


Twas In Another Lifetime (One of Toil and Blood)

by Caswingsuniverse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Bartender Dean Winchester, Cowboy Hats Stay On, F/M, Fae Castiel (Supernatural), Fae Jack (Supernatural), Fae Magic, Found Family, Hand Jobs, Lap Sex, M/M, dadstiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:49:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 53,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27496726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caswingsuniverse/pseuds/Caswingsuniverse
Summary: “I’ve heard newborn babies wailin’ like a mournin’ dove and old men with broken teeth stranded without love, Do I understand your question, man, is it hopeless and forlorn. Come in, she said, I’ll give ya shelter from the storm. ”Ouroboros is a town where the hills whisper sins and trees snatch up kids. It takes a certain kind of grit to brave the heat waves and the shadows that haunt every crossroads. Dean Winchester has cut his teeth in the magic dusted soil, made a life for himself away from the fae that lurks among the humans. When Sam leaves in the middle of the night with no promise of returning, however, Dean’s life turns upside down. He turns to the only fae he’s come to trust, a man with sapphire eyes who goes by the name of James.Dragged into the magical world around him, Dean now finds himself as the caretaker for James’ half-human, half-fae son, Jack. Dean and James grow closer despite the West’s old secrets and the Fae’s older magic. In a struggle against old fears, longing for family, and desperation to save his brother, Dean must learn to trust what destroyed his father.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury/Jo Harvelle, Ellen Harvelle/Bobby Singer
Comments: 20
Kudos: 89
Collections: DCBB 2020





	1. Whiskey River

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in listening to a playlist I used for inspiration, here's a link to Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4gR3zfwDBEIutBJWQmZ1B2?si=sQk_c5w6QRKZOP2EsEwQTg
> 
> Thanks to my two besties for beta reading and Solus's endless patience as I screamed about ideas.
> 
> Also check out Solus's art on their tumblr! https://soluscheese.tumblr.com/

Nestled deep in the western heat wave, just south down the muddy river, lies Ouroboros. There, the water trickles into something sweeter than stars and honey and the grass pulls your feet into the earth. Folks around those parts all know the stories. Ouroboros is a town of bones. Those who live there are all tied by soul and blood to the dirt. Try to leave and it yanks you back with a whip. Fae hunters, non-believers, eager priests, runaways, poor men—they all tumble through on the whirlwinds of a dusty afternoon. None ever stay—spit out by the snake and scared by the rattle. The ones with real grit never shake the town’s poison. 

The Winchesters had that sort of grit. Or, at least, John ground them into it. When John settled with his sons in the outer west, Ouroboros had already sunk its teeth into him. The stories of cliffs that sing and tankards that never drain wove together into a dream of bringing his wife back. He just had to find the right fae for the deal. While none took the bait, not even for the poor man’s soul, other deals claimed John Winchester for the whispers in the hills. 

Not Dean Winchester, though. A man warm, sweet as honey whiskey and sharp as a scythe. The older Winchester boy was never once tempted by a moonlit deal with a fae. Not after his father drowned himself in deals and fae liquor. No, Dean lives a simple _human_ life. Raised his little brother with the help of Bobby and Ellen, opened up his own bar, made a place to settle down one day. At thirty years young, he did just that—besides settling down with a family of his own. Ouroboros ain’t the kind of place for gentle folk or gentle relationships. Yet he never thinks to leave, not with his father’s body buried out on the family ranch and Sam running the old place better than their old man ever could. 

And, of course, Dean could never leave his pride and joy: The Devil’s Backbone. The Devil’s Backbone is the warm-blooded building Dean always dreamt of. The kind of place that folks came for a pint after a long day of work, to play poker with friends and enemies, and always leave buzzed on the company. He saved up all on his own, growing what little money he made fixing up barns and houses through a few choice bets. With Benny as his cook, Sam as his bookkeeper, and Charlie and Jo as his waitresses, Dean kept his family close by. That was the only way he knew to survive Ouroboros— keep your family close and your gun under your pillow. 

Dean ran The Devil’s Backbone with what he believed to be class. No firearms allowed, take all brawls out to the street, and leave his waitresses alone. Follow the rules, you’d be allowed back into the dim lighting surrounded by chattering voices, Garth teasing the keys of a piano Dean bought off the old Sheriff, and plenty of good booze to go around. 

Dean stands behind the bar, polishing glasses and watching the candles flicker. The sun peers through the slats in the walls as it sets, as if clinging on the last images of the sleepy bar. Charlie saunters between the tables, taking orders and giving them as she keeps the men and women corralled in their ease. Benny fries up some more beef patties while whistling along with whatever old tune Garth is playing. Sam sits up against the back wall, hunched over a book on fae history. 

Bobby silently stands from one of the poker tables, wearing a scowl. He stops up to the bar, groaning as he leans against the cedar. He sits on a stool and glares from under his hat at Dean’s welcoming grin. “Don’t look so pleased with yerself, boy. Just pour my drink and let an old man be.”

Dean chuckles as he places two shot glasses onto the bar and pours out some of his best whiskey. “I told ya not to play at the same table as yer wife, Bobby. It can only lead to empty pockets and headin to bed bested.”

Behind Bobby, Ellen stands from their table and holds her arms out. “Well, boys, it’s been quite the afternoon and as much as I’d love to stay ’n empty yer wallets some more, I have a husband to console. Next rounds on me!”

Sighs of relief litter the air as the men start to reshuffle their cards. Bobby rolls his eyes, a gesture only Dean sees but is sure Ellen could sense as she crosses the small distance to them. She pats Bobby on the shoulder, ducking underneath his hat to kiss his bearded cheek. “Oh, don’t worry, Bobby. I’m usin the winnin’s to pay for the liquor.”

Bobby tosses back the first shot with a grumble. “Ya mean the winnin’s ya got from _my_ pocket?”

Ellen grins widely as she slams the money onto the counter and slides it to Dean. “Exactly, my love.”

Rather than comment on their quarrel, Dean busies himself pouring out the drinks for Ellen’s poker table. He fills them to the brim out of sympathy, glad he was only ever on the same side of the poker table with Ellen. The door to the Devil’s Backbone opens as he stacks the glasses onto a tray for Charlie to hand out. He glances up with a customary greeting, to find the words caught in his throat. 

The stranger stands only an inch or two shorter than Dean himself and somehow towered over every person in the barroom. Chin tilted up, accenting how the salt-and-pepper stubble crawls down a sharp jaw, the stranger stares down a pointed nose. From across the dining room, the stranger’s eyes meet Dean’s. The color immediately knocks Dean’s heart around his ribcage—bright blue. Like glamoured sapphires. 

Fae folk aren’t exactly hidden in the folds of Ouroboros. No one knows how long they’ve existed. Some believe they found the town. Some believe they arrived when the human settlers did, sensing that many were dealmakers hoping to find their happy endings in an unforgiving desert. No matter how the fae cropped up in Ouroboros, the human townsfolk used their poker skills to distinguish them from others. Every person notices fae in different ways, picking up on The Tell. John could tell by the way fae walk. Sam can tell by the crook of their smiles during conversation. Dean’s tell has always been the eyes. The brightness always upends everything in Dean’s mind and sends his heart racing for the hills. 

A brisk wind through the open windows reminds Dean to inhale as the fae weaves between tables to the bar. Bobby side eyes the man, raising an eyebrow to Ellen. In the back, Sam is also watching, already spotting what Dean has by the smirk the fae wears. Everyone else in the bar resumes their conversations, ignorant of the fae in their midst. All the bar sounds have melted away for Dean, however. Instead, the leaves rattle outside the window— a cacophony that only settles once the man is seated before Dean. 

The stranger lifts his black derby hat, exposing a slightly graying mess of black hair. 

He wears a red flannel, fabric hugging his chest and arms in a way that is more provocative than practical. Dean’s dealt with quite a few fae in his time as a bar owner. He never turned them away, long as they kept their deals to the crossroads. Dean stares at the new stranger, smirking as he cleans a glass in an attempt to assert his hold over the bar and his feelings. It isn’t until those eyes struck against his own that his heart stuttered again. Dean is familiar with the feeling when meeting glances with a few attractive women and men he’d seen in neighboring towns. It’s that trip wire in his heart, thrumming a low note and sending explosions through his blood stream. His hand tightens around the glass as he forces oxygen through his lungs. 

“Three fingers of whiskey,” the stranger grumbles, voice rough like the crackle of a bonfire.

Dean swallows, shaking away the feeling and pouring out the amount. The stranger looks Dean up and down. Every hair on Dean’s body rises, a shiver crawling across his back. Definitely a fae. 

The stranger drains each shot and sighed. He pats the bar. “Three more, but bring them to that table, if you please. I feel particularly… capricious today.” 

Blinking at the stranger’s odd choice of language, Dean nods as the stranger stands and goes over to one of the poker tables. Dean takes the moment to look the man up and down. The well-fitted, but dirt scuffed jeans and dusty black boots surprise Dean. Not because the attire was uncommon in Ouroboros, but because it was uncommon to see on a _fae._ Humans wear dusty jeans and skirts, vests with deep pockets, gun holsters around the hips for comfort, shirts stretched around the armpits, and hats that smell of mothballs. The fae grasp the basics as if they only wanted to mimic the pieces of the puzzle. Their clothes are always clean, shiny and dust-free, and well-tailored. It draws the eye in, begging that someone taste their company. John always said it was part of their draw, the seduction. If Dean hadn’t seen the fae’s eyes, he’d assume the stranger is human based on clothing alone. 

Dean quickly pours the remainder of the shots and sets them aside for Charlie. She smirks in his direction, but remains silent, much to Dean’s gratitude. Ellen stands beside Bobby, hip against the bar and arms crossed over her chest. She watches the fae settle at one of the tables. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen him ‘fore. Not even bout town.”

Bobby grunts and downs his other two shots. He taps the glass on the bar, and Dean splashes more into the glass. “It don’t matter. Quit yer starin. You, too, boy.”

Dean snaps his gaze from the messy hair across his bar to his surrogate father before him.  
“Maybe Ellen’s right, Bobby. I ain’t seen him around before. ’N ya know how Sam keeps track of all the crossroads. He would have drawn him. I’d remember.”

The grin that graces Ellen’s face barely prepares Dean for the flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks as Ellen says, “Ya never forget a pretty face, Dean.”

After shooting Ellen a weak glare, Dean looks over at the stranger again. Charlie hands him his whiskey, making the fae smile and nod his head. “All ’m sayin’ is maybe he’s rollin through town. Hopefully he ain’t here to cause trouble.”

Dean glances towards the back where Sam sat before the fae entered. The younger Winchester sits hunched over the table, scribbling on his parchment with a fountain pen. Already drawing a portrait and noting any glamours he can discern from the normal background of the bar. Bobby follows Dean’s gaze and sighs. “You’d both do good to leave the fae alone. Enough pouring water in fire ant hills, boy. It’s bad enough yer Daddy died under their spell. Ya gotta let this go.” Bobby points a finger at Dean. 

Scoffing, Dean glares down at his hands as they rub down the bar. “I done let go years ago, Bobby. I ain’t got no interest in them or their deals. Sam’s just…” Dean shakes his head. “He can’t shake it. No matter how much I tell him we can’t control em or the deals they make.”

Dean leans on his elbows on the bar, watching Bobby for a moment. The determination settled in the man’s eyebrows comfort Dean with its familiarity. It’s a distrust, a survival instinct, that still pulses through him even under his initial attraction. 

Dean sighs. “I’ll keep an eye on him, keep him outta trouble.” 

Bobby nods and looks up at Ellen, who watches over the conversation in silence. She nods in agreement with Bobby, reaching out and patting Dean’s cheek gently. “We just want ya to stay safe. Ya know. Live long enough to settle down, maybe even leave Ouroboros.”

With a snort, Dean goes back to preparing drinks just to have something to do with his hands. “Nobody ever leaves Ouroboros, Ellen. ’N you know it.”

“Still, Dean. Leave well enough alone.” Ellen and Bobby stand, shouldering the weight of the heat before heading home for the night. Dean waves them out, as does Charlie and most of the bar’s occupants. 

Dean takes the new silence as an opportunity to watch the fae work the poker table. “Capricious,” according to this stranger, meant _damn good_ at poker. The fae sits, hat tossed aside and legs spread wide under the table. Dean swallows. Those eyes scan everyone at the table, then lazily looks down at his cards. Between shots, the man smokes a cigar, glaring at the other men through the smoke. Dean swears his eyes sparkle like gemstones. Every turn of the cards, the fae licks his lips. Lips Dean desperately tries to not describe in his own mind. 

Instead, Dean watches in wonder as the fae’s face never once flickers. Not a shred of joy, doubt, nor anger. Even as the other men around him raise hell, pointing fingers and slapping palms as if they could match the threat of guns, the fae stays seated. His winnings pile grows and tensions with it. If Dean didn’t keep a strict policy about firearms in his barroom, he’s sure the fae would be shot down. 

After about an hour, the men around him call it quits. The fae grins up at every one of them. Dean, busy cleaning more glasses, catches a glimpse of the proud smirk and drops the glass. It shatters at his feet, causing him to curse softly to himself. That kind of smile would scare a coyote. Heat tingles through Dean, enough to almost burn him. Dean swallows and turns away to clean up the shards. Nothing but trouble, these feelings and that fae. 

When Dean stands, the fae lurks on the other side of the bar. Dean’s stomach lurches into his throat and he grunts in surprise. The fae tilts his head, watching Dean’s adam’s apple bob. “I’ll take a last beer before I depart for the night.”

“Sure thing,” Dean mumbles, side eyeing the fae as he pours out the pint and slides it to the fae. Dean’s eyes stay glued to the man’s throat as he chugs down every last drop. With a slam of the glass on the bar, the fae shoves every last dollar he won into the glass. 

“That should cover my drinks and the commotion. Goodnight.”

Dean stammers for a moment, but lets the man leave. Enough money sits in that cup to feed Sam and himself for months. 

Since that night, four weeks ago, the fae shows up every Sunday. As soon as the fae enters, Dean can _sense_ it, like smelling a thunderstorm before the first drops of rain. The fae strides up to the bar, nods at Dean and asks for his customary drinks. He proceeds to the poker tables, which, despite being cleaned only a couple nights prior, still accept him. After clearing out every available pocket, the fae would drink his warm ale and leave every bit of the earnings on Dean’s bar.

Growing up, all children of Ouroboros learn that a fae’s presence causes a chemical reaction similar to drinking. Some people grow drunk quickly, world blurring and spinning except the sight of too bright eyes and too many teeth. Some can sip and remain unaffected. Dean prides himself on being the latter, but _this_ fae stirs something inside Dean. That ancient connection between the soul and magic, the stuff that makes the stars and hurricanes. In the past month, Dean finds himself dreaming of blue, wrapped in its cool comfort as if he’s drifting on the surface of a lake. Whenever a nightmare hangs too close to his chest, ribs tight, the memory of those eyes and the fae’s subtle smile smooth him. 

Dean keeps such realizations from his family and friends. Bobby’s warning darkens his thoughts every time he sees his reflection, every time he sees his brother sneak out in the middle of the night. John’s bloodshot eyes haunt the back of his mind, glossy with fairy drink. He knows he shouldn’t eagerly anticipate the fae’s arrival every week. He can’t help the way his blood thrums in his ears as soon as he hears the church bells ring. 

Despite what folk talk about over late-night bonfires, the rules of Ouroboros are indeed simple. Humans stay to their work, their homes, their establishments. As do the fae. The fae have their own place, a saloon on the other side of town with black walls and stained glass windows. Yet, Dean always serves the fae with sapphire eyes. 

This Sunday, heat coils like an angry snake in the Devil’s Backbone, but folks still laze about. Garth plays a slow tune on the piano, filling the air with bloated notes. Dean works in the back with Benny rolling dough to make pie crust while Charlie tends to the bar. Dean hears the front door swing open and _knows._ The air feels thick like honey, a sweet aftertaste every time he breathes. Dean freezes, blinking down at his flour-coated hands. 

Benny stops and glances over at Dean. “Everything okay, brother?”

Dean nods quickly and clears his throat. He starts back with the work of flattening the dough into a circle to ignore the flip of his stomach. If he’s with Benny, it means he’s missed the initial lock of gazes. He missed that first spark of blue, and his heart won’t stop pinching the inside of his chest. “’S alright. Just heard the door.” 

Ouroboros is a town of simple routines. The workings of every piece hold up the delicate balance between the humans and their supernatural neighbors. With every second that passes, Dean misses another piece of his new weekly routine. His heart hammers even harder with each footstep he hears. Benny glances up at him again, noticing the odd behavior but deciding to not say anything. Dean forces his breathing to slow, pretending that his lungs aren’t gasping for air. He closes his eyes, admonishing himself for allowing his body to fall into the spell so quickly. 

Dean hears Charlie’s voice through the wall. “Evenin! What can I get ya?”

That grumbling voice soothes over the heat. Dean strains his ears to listen, biting the inside of his cheek. “Tonight, I’d like the whole bottle of yer finest whiskey, please.”

The fae had thrown their routine out the window. Dean’s fingers tingle. “I gotta take care of this,” is all he says to Benny as he sets the dough aside for Benny to finish. He shoves through the door to the bar, forcing his eyes to focus on Charlie’s red hair rather than the fae. “I got it, sweetheart.”

At the words, both fae and Charlie turn to look at him. Charlie’s eyes soften, expression melting into an amused smirk. Girl always was too clever for her own good. The fae’s pinched expression relaxes at the sight of Dean behind the bar. Furrowed eyebrows slump in time with his shoulders. Dean swallows and nods at the fae. “I know just what ya want.” 

The corner of the fae’s lip quirks, an expression not yet directed at Dean yet. The human’s stomach lurches and he almost trips into the wall. Damn fae magic. 

“I’m sure ya do.” The murmured words flitter around Dean’s ears before they fully land in his mind. Dean blinks, startled by the statement he would normally consider a come-on. Though, the fae sounds genuinely comforted by Dean’s control.

With another nod, Dean turns on his heel into the back of house. He searches the stock for his best bottle of whiskey. The kind of stuff Bobby sings praises about while he goes over the edge with rot gut. The kind of stuff a man dreams about as he crosses the desert. The kind of stuff that swallows everything up in amber, making the world a honeyed place. When he finds it, he gently pulls it from its place on the shelf. He wipes the glass clean with his shirt sleeve. He’d been saving this for something big, some important night that he’d yet to come across. 

Heading back to the bar, Dean holds up the bottle. Routine flows through his movements. Three shot glasses, ones Dean began to think of as the fae’s despite their heavy rotation throughout the days and nights in the bar. Lining them up, he nods at the fae’s normal poker table while he pours. “Charlie can bring em over to the table ’n leave the bottle if ya like.”

The fae huffs and hunches over the bar, shaking his head. “Not tonight. I’m in no mood to play poker.”

Dean looks over the fae as he sets the bottle onto the bar. The fae gulps down the three shots and pours himself another set. He seems unbothered by Dean’s staring, though Dean supposes the fae folk are used to the attention. Too clean, too pretty, too bright for the dusty old earth of Ouroboros. Dean takes in the tuft of the fae’s hair, tousled more than the last time they’d met with Dean’s bar between them. The light speckle of five o’clock shadow that typically shaped the fae’s jaw has grown thicker, drawing out more grays than Dean noticed before. 

When the fae looks up, squinting and tilting his head to challenge the open stare, there’s only a dull shimmer in those blue eyes. Dark circles frame them, dampening the cut of his cheek bones with a slight puff Dean knows is from one too many nights without sleep. He almost snorts at the realization that maybe these ageless, graceful creatures are inhibited by the same disgusting human necessities. 

“Ya want a bite to eat? Benny ’n I are scrapin together some pies. Cherry’ll go great with the whiskey. On the house.”

The fae downs a shot, looking down the glass at Dean as he swallows. Dean ignores the heat in his ears, waiting for an answer. “I don’t see the harm in that. Thank you.”

“No problem,” Dean tugs his wash rag from his belt loop and starts to wipe down the counter. “Ya look like you’ve gone through the ringer today. Ain’t nothin a lil sugar can’t fix is what my momma always said.” 

Shooting back the fifth and sixth shots, the fae grunts at the burn. He watches Dean’s forearms move over the polished cedar. “She sounds wise.” 

Dean sees his distorted reflection in the wood of the bar. A mother gone too soon, a brother too young to understand, and a father too angry to let go. His vision blurs, and he blinks away the heat he feels building in his temples. “She was.”

Clearing his throat, Dean straightens. “Lemme get that ready for ya. Enjoy yer whiskey. Don’t let my waitress bother ya too much. She can lock ya down in a conversation, if yer not quick.”

When the fae smiles this time, it exposes his teeth. The canines look sharper, hinting at the power lurking under the façade. Dean’s mouth goes dry, and he offers a small smile of his own. 

Heading back into the kitchen, Dean lets out a deep sigh, rubbing his face. Benny stands by the oven, arms crossed over his wide chest. He raises an eyebrow at Dean. “Wanna tell me what all that was bout, brother?”

Dean rolls his eyes, waving off his friend’s inspecting glare. “Ya ain’t my keeper, Benny.”

Benny steps up to Dean, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder to keep him under the prickle of Benny’s concern. “Maybe I ain’t, but you’ve been skittish since he walked through the door. Ya always are. Got something goin on?”

Shoving at Benny’s chest, Dean turns to the pies they have cooling by the window. “Ain’t nothin goin on. I’m just servin a customer. A good customer. He hasn’t started no trouble ’n pays good money. I ain’t gonna treat ’im like dirt just because he’s not human.”

Cutting a generous slice of pie fills the silence between them for a moment before Benny scoffs. Dean chooses to ignore it, plating the pie and grabbing a clean fork. He strides past his best friend and places the plate before the fae. The whiskey bottle clacks back onto the bar top. Dean watches the contents splash. Halfway gone. 

The fae uses the back of his hand to push aside the glasses and pull the plate towards himself. Dean leans against the counter, crossing his arms as he watches the fae take his first bite. His expression changes from one of tipsy stoicism to tipsy surprise. The lines of the fae’s face are blurred but easy to read. 

“This… makes me very happy.” The words tumble out. The fae takes another bite and sighs through his nose. Dean grins. 

“Told ya. I’ll let Benny know ya enjoyed it.” Dean doesn’t immediately push off the counter, still watching the fae eat in silence. His heart beat fills his ears, palms starting to sweat the longer he stares at the fae. 

The fae raises an eyebrow at Dean as he pours another set of shots. “Would you like one? What you’ve brought me is fantastic.”

“You asked for the best,” Dean teases, smiling softly. 

The fae laughs shortly. “That I did.” He glances up at Dean through his eyelashes. “Well?”

Dean nods, pulling out another glass and holding it out. His hand trembles slightly as the neck of the bottle clinks against the lip. Their eyes meet for a moment, and Dean swears the color pulses with brightness. “Thanks,” he says softly before sipping at the liquid. He groans and lifts the glass to look at it. “Shit’s better than I even expected.”

The fae nods in agreement, leaving the empty glasses in favor of drinking straight from the bottle. He gasps for a breath when he stops gulping at the whiskey. Dean watches him after finishing his shot. He goes about cleaning their glasses and putting them back on the shelf. Surrounded by nothing but bar sounds, it doesn’t feel tense. The warmth of the alcohol buzzes in the center of Dean’s chest.. The fae watches his hands wring a rag over the glass between swigs. A tint of pink fills his cheeks. 

“Thank you. For… this. I needed it. I know ya didn’t have to serve me, yet you do. It’s much appreciated,” the fae says, words soft and slurring. It reminds Dean of an early morning breeze. He shrugs and looks around the bar to avoid locking gazes again. There’s a distinct pause when the fae stops talking. Despite the familiarity of their routine, honorifics are missing from their conversation. 

Dean knows the stories. Names are not given freely in Ouroboros, especially when fae are present. Though, Dean does not know his true name, just his human given one. Not many human’s do since it comes with too much responsibility to keep safe. Still, even the syllables of a birth name in the mouth of a fae can turn sharp as a knife. And Dean sure knows that the fae will sooner part with his head than his name, same as it is with all fae. Yet, this Sunday night, as the sun sets over Ouroboros, all stories break down to dust.

“Yer more than welcome, man,” Dean says, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

The fae leans over the bar, hand wrapped around the neck of his bottle to keep his balance. He squints up at Dean, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment. “James.”

Their gazes lock, Dean can’t ignore the shiver that runs through him. Sweat drips down the small of his back. _James. James._ “Yer welcome, James. Any time.”

Dean holds out his hand, pulse jumping when James shakes it. His hands are more calloused than Dean expected. Hands of someone used to hard work rather than magic. Dean swallows.

“I’ll remember that,” James says as he lets go of Dean’s hand. He clumsily grabs for his wallet, taking out the bills to pay off his tab. 

And even though James never asks, Dean still says, “Dean.” 

The sparkle Dean remembers from when they first met returns as the fae accepts his name for what it is: a gift of respect and trust. Or, at least, the semblance of it. “Goodnight, Dean.”

Maybe he shared his name to level things between them. Maybe he also shared it just to hear it in that bonfire crackle voice. Maybe he should run for the hills before he digs himself into more trouble. Maybe he should have seen his brother watching the interaction from the back of the bar. 


	2. Mama Tried

The Winchester ranch is a patch of sky, dirt, and sweat. It’s two gravestones, one with the body planted beneath, the other taken by ash. It’s an empty master bedroom and two childhood bedrooms occupied by grown men. It’s cicadas and crickets and frogs in the middle of the night to cover the shuffle of feet and turn of pages. It’s gunpowder, sweet wine, and leather. 

Dean leans back in his chair at the dining room table, feet propped on the wooden top. John slapped the back of his head more times than he could count for doing the same action, but Sam’s shadow just hurries behind him. Shoulders slightly hunched over his book, eyes downcast, lips moving as he reads to himself. Gone. Dean takes a swig of his water, watching his brother pace for a few moments. 

“Ya gonna sit ’n eat dinner?” Dean asks, already knowing the answer. 

“I ate before you came home. Thank you,” Sam mutters into the open arms of his book. 

Dean lets his feet fall to the floor with a thunk, squinting up at his brother. He spins his glass slowly in his hand. “Should I stop makin meals for two, Sammy? Ya seem pretty occupied by whatever yer doin to bother to eat with yer brother anymore.”

Sam sighs, eyes slipping closed for a moment to ignore the bite of Dean’s words. “Dean, I’ve just been busy.” 

Crossing his arms, Dean leans back against the chair. “You’ve been goin out every night for weeks. Doin what? Checkin the crossroads? Lookin for mushroom circles? Waitin for the trees to talk? Yer never here anymore, Sam.”

“This is important, Dean. I keep learning information that can protect people.” Sam still looks down at his book, scouring over his notes as if it holds the answers for Dean’s skepticism. 

“And what about you? Who’s protectin you?” Dean asks, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

“I’m 26-years-old, Dean. I hardly need protecting,” Sam says with an eye roll. The younger Winchester finally looks up and meets his brother’s concerned gaze. 

The terse silence brings forth the words. “Yer obsessed. Just like dad was. Chasin after shadows without thinking about how one day they might chase back.”

“I’m keeping people from being  _ like  _ dad, Dean. No one has to die from deals if we can just figure out how they work. How the magic sucks people in,” Sam says through his teeth, closing his book with a snap. “And you’re one to talk.”

Dean scoffs, tossing a hand up and looking away from his brother. “You see me sneakin out in the middle of the night? No. I don’t go looking for snake dens.” 

“I saw you,” Sam says, stepping up to the table. He places his hands on it, leaning over to stare Dean down. “With that dark haired fae from the bar. He’s shown up four times already. And you melt every time.” 

Dean clicks his jaw, staring back. “Far as I’m concerned, he’s a customer. Nothin more. He ain’t startin trouble, so I’m not either.”

“Oh? And that’s why you gave him your name?” Sam taunts, the words a hiss through his teeth. The small smirk matches the angry tilt of his eyebrow. A look borrowed from their father’s genes. 

“Felt fair, he gave me his first,” Dean admits, smirking back. 

Sam huffs and pushes off the table. “Dean, do  _ you  _ even know what sort of fire you’re playing with? That fae is… he’s different.”

“Because he actually pays his tab? Or because he won’t deal unless it’s cards?” Sam blinks in surprise. Dean nods. “That’s right, Sammy. I got my own eyes ’n ears around town. I ain’t an idiot. You think I let him come back into Devil’s Backbone without scopin out why he’s in town first? He ain’t what ya think.”

Sam slams a hand on his notebook and scowls. “That’s what I’m saying, Dean. He isn’t what you think. He isn’t some… some run of the mill fae. He’s got more glamours than I’ve ever seen. That sort of power? It’s enough to eclipse the sun. And the fact that he’s just… here? In Ouroboros of his own accord and not making deals? Doesn’t that strike you as suspicious?”

“What strikes me as suspicious is that my little brother hasn’t eaten in a week, sneaks off in the middle of the night, and knows so god damn much about the fae folk,” Dean spits out. He stays sitting back as Sam rocks forward on his feet, fists clenched. His lips pinch and his eyebrows furrow. Dean knew he held the match to the fuse, but he couldn’t think of another way to deflect from his feelings for James and learn what Sam’s been up to in the dark. 

“Ya know what, Dean,” Sam mutters, shaking his head as he paces their dining room. He doesn’t finish his statement, doing what he always does to avoid fighting. He swallows it down, and Dean tsks from his seat across the room. Sam’s shoulders go rigid. 

“Ya gonna finish yer threat, Sammy? Or are ya gonna tell me what the fuck is goin on?”

“It’s not like you’d understand. You’ve been like this since Dad died. You’re just as affected by them, but you refuse to do anything. Haven’t you noticed that there are more of them now than there ever has been? More talk of deals, both small and big? Something big is going down, and we could stop it, if you would just listen to me.”

Dean stands. “People make deals, Sam! They toss their lives at the feet of magic, and it eats them up for supper. Ain’t nothing going to change that. And the fae sure as hell ain’t leavin. So what if more of them are comin? One or one hundred, won’t change people.”

“If we could just understand the Court systems, figure out what sort of fae live around Ouroboros, maybe we could draw them out.” Sam starts to pace again. 

“Sam, you never gave a shit about finding them before. Why now? And don’t give me that ‘stopping deals’ crap. This is more than that. I know you.” 

Sam blinks and huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, Dean. Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.” Sam wrings his hands, then wipes them on his shirt. “Maybe this is exactly what I say it is, and ya just gotta trust me.”

Dean watches and shakes his head, the same twitching possessing his brother’s mind as it had his father’s. The sort of withdrawal only caused by magic. The same sort of fidgeting that keeps Dean up Sunday nights. “I’ll tell ya what, Sammy. You leave this shit alone. And I’ll stop servin that fae that’s got ya so spooked. Just… promise me you’ll leave well enough alone. You got a good life here, at home. With me ’n Bobby ’n Ellen ’n Jo. I ain’t the only one worried about ya. We don’t want ya to turn into the same ghost Dad was, Sam. Please.”

As Dean spoke, the anger boiled down into something soft. He almost feels like begging, even thinks about hugging his brother like when they were kids. He keeps the table between them, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide how they shake. Sam looks at the floor, only glancing up at Dean through his hair for a moment. 

He nods, still looking at the floor. “Yeah, Dean. I promise.” 

Dean wakes with a start in the middle of the night. The crescent moon slices through his window curtains, peering into his eyes. There’s silence. No wind, no bugs, no whispers. And no snoring. As soon as he sits up, Dean knows he’s alone in the house. Left in a home of empty promises. 

Growing up, Dean met folks whose daddies built their family hearths. Those folks carried the artifacts of their eastern lives to the west in search of new life. Books, lockets, sewing kits, hunting rifles. The Winchesters carried nothing but the dust of pain. And their house was an oasis: a place built by wind and hills and a little magic. One minute, Dean and Sam are playing beneath a tree. The next, a house shimmers into shape on the horizon. Three bedrooms, a wide kitchen, a cozy living room. Rather than the luck of the cards or the strength of the soil, John cut his fortune from the literal palm of his hand. Dean watched as a sharp fingernail sliced calloused palm. Blood dripped to the soil and the fae grinned. Dean remembers the eyes, white as mid-day sun, with a smile to match. 

That power buzzed in the floorboards but had dulled into a hum after years. Too many footsteps and too much overstuffed furniture. Too many fires and too many fights. Each moment warped fae magic into a human home. 

A human home that currently swallows Dean whole. Swaddled in a blanket, Dean sits in his arm chair with a cup of coffee he typically saves for particularly bad hangovers. The quiet builds on his chest until he feels like he can’t breathe, buried in this house outside town. One of Sam’s bags sits on the table before Dean, contents spread out. A glass bottle with iridescent liquid, a talisman with a symbol Dean doesn’t recognize, and one of the man’s many notebooks. 

_ Ruby offered me some water from the Court’s spring. She says it’ll cure the ache in my shoulder from when I fell out of a tree. I kept it under my bed for two full moons before I finally took a sip. I tripped shodding the stalls and broke my ankle, the sort of mistake that’ll cost Dean at least half a year’s earnings. As soon as it touched my lips, a cool sensation filled my chest. It tingled down my limbs, restored my broken bones, soothed my aching muscles, replenished my energy. How could such a miracle be kept from the others? _

Dean taps the glass bottle with his toe, watching the contents slosh. It catches the sunlight and glitters internally. Dean pulls his lips back in disgust. John drank fae liquor, soon before he died. Said it tasted like straight fire coursing through his body. And he never ate human food again. A week later, he disappeared, and Dean found his body in the woods, eyes completely black. Consumed by fae magic and rejected. 

The bottle’s almost empty now, meaning Sam continued to drink whatever concoction this  _ Ruby  _ gave his little brother. It also explained Sam’s lack of appetite and distraction of late. Like biting the forbidden fruit, that first taste will be your last. Once you eat or drink from the fae land, you belong there. Bound with more than chains and called to the cell by voices in every stream. 

Dean looks out the window, sipping at the luke-warm brew in his cup. Sighing through his nose, he watches the clouds crawl for a few moments. He thinks about rolling a cigarette. He longs to fill his lungs with something other than air, to feel a burn that grounds him in the moment. 

There’s a part of him that accepts this new loneliness. A simple lifestyle. Run the bar, hire a hand to care for Baby and the small crop behind the house, come home to a cold bed. He could leave Sam to the world beneath the sand and grit of Ouroboros. He could leave behind his past, his family, and live in solitude. 

He won’t. 

“He did what?!” Bobby basically shouts. He pants in his seat, fists clenched on the table. Ellen squeezes her husband’s shoulders, eyes downcast as they process what Dean’s told them. 

Dean shrugs, looking down at his hands. His mother’s wedding band glints on his ring finger. He spins it with his thumb. “I shoulda known. The kid hasn’t eaten in a week. He’s been sneakin out more n more. And all these books? He’s worse than dad. I don’t… I don’t know what to do at this point.”

Dean doesn’t tell them he’s not sure he should even try. Sam always reminded them of John, unmoving as a tree and rooted in his ways. If the man wanted to be found—to be saved—he would have let Dean into his secret life. 

There’s an unspoken expectation that Bobby and Ellen should scold Dean for pushing his brother away. It is said in their stiff lips and their raised shoulders and the way Ellen squeezes Dean’s shoulder as she gives him a glass of water. Dean looks up at her, eyes tired. “I’m sorry to say it, boy. But there ain’t nothin that can save Sam except himself. Who knows how far into the fae’s world he’s gone, if they’ve learned his true name. They’ve stuck their claws in him just like they did yer daddy. You know—”

“You can’t come back from that. I know, but Ellen… he’s my brother. I can’t just leave him.” Dean puts his head in his hands, rubbing his thumb over his temples. “He’s got this ridiculous idea that he’s  _ helpin  _ people. That he can save ‘em, save us, if we only knew how the fae worked. Why they’re tied to Ouroboros, why more keep showin up. He thinks something is happenin.”

Bobby raises an eyebrow and meets Ellen’s eyes over Dean’s head. “Do you?”

Dean barks a laugh. “Why would I? Ain’t nothin new or special about fae makin deals. Magic’s old as dirt.” He huffs. “Maybe older. You noticed anything different?”

Clearing his throat, Bobby adjusts his shirt over his chest. Dean sits up more. “Bobby?”

“Maybe… Maybe there’s been more omens. Crows circlin, wild cats ’n dogs crawlin through town, cattle fallin dead. People are spottin mushroom circles in their yards. It’s causin a buzz.” 

Dean runs a hand through his hair, glaring up at Bobby. “So all that talk bout leavin well enough alone?” 

“I can’t be worried bout ya?” Bobby asks, voice gruff. 

Staring down the man he thinks of as a father, Dean feels his anger tremble into dust. He sighs and looks away. “Course ya can, Bobby. I’m just… This whole thing was supposed to end when John died. Now they’ve got Sam, and I’ve got shit.”

Ellen puts her hands on Dean’s shoulders, squeezing reassuringly, looking over at her husband. “You got us, son. Ain’t nothin can change that.” 

The house creaks around them as if in agreement. The bones Bobby built from the ground up to keep his family safe. It always felt more like a home than the house John bought through magic. Dean nods and flicks his glass with his nail. 

“We’ll figure this out, Dean. I’ll talk around. Give it some time,” Bobby says, glaring at his son. “Just don’t go ’n do anything stupid.” 

Dean wants to yell and punch the table and throw his arms up. He wants to let out his anger at his father, at his brother, at the fae. Every time his life started to settle down into a peaceful sort of purpose, something shatters the façade. Clenching his jaw, Dean nods. 

When he was little, his stomps and pouts were always met with his mother’s laughter.  _ Winchester Gumption  _ is what she called it. A mixture of bravado and idiocy even she could not stop. It’s what she called John getting kicked in the chest when he spooked a new stallion. It’s what she called Sam crawling out of his crib every night. It’s what she called Dean when he whacked a hornet’s nest with a stick. The inhibition allowed them to take risks, to push the horizon and demand more from their lives. The problem was that it always pushed back. It didn’t matter how much Mary Winchester tried to coral her boys in, they always broke free. 

As Dean sits at Bobby and Ellen’s dining room table, he knows Sam doesn’t have time. Not for Bobby’s methods, not for Dean to hire a fae hunter, not for Dean to track down this mysterious Ruby. He knows what he needs to do, even if it’s as impossible as bottling up a thunderstorm. And he’s got the Winchester Gumption to do it. 


	3. The Gambler

The knowledge on how to strike a deal with the fae is as unconscious as the ten commandments. No one remembers the moment they learn it, just that they do. Just like they know to never hand away their names, to be wary of the pretty glamours, to stay away from either Court. Dean knew more than most from John’s ramblings, claims that he only ever visited Seelie fae as the better of two evils. Courts mean nothing to Dean right now as he set out into the night. A deal is a deal. 

On the back side of the Winchester ranch, on the west side of the creek, is one of the many crossroads in Ouroboros. The grass and brush and weeds all part for these pathways, older than man and wiser, too. Some folks say the paths were made by deer and other animals. Yet, the slithers of dirt through the landscape pulse with the energy of moonlight and the chill of autumn. Dean steps onto the soft sand and it slides under his boots. He shivers despite the stuffy warmth of mid-summer. Leaves twinkle with every breeze. The creek bubbles beside him, and Dean glares at the shimmering water. 

“This is gonna bite me in the ass,” Dean whispers to himself. 

“Dunno what yer talkin’ bout, sweetheart, but I’d sure love a taste.” 

Dean spins on his heel, hand going to the Colt revolver on his belt. The shadows twirl into a dust devil. Dean grips the butt of his gun and squints at it. “Bold words comin from nothin but air.”

A laugh wraps itself around Dean’s neck. For a moment, he struggles to breathe. Heart leaping into his throat, he croaks. The dust devil dissipates and there’s a woman. Her yellow skirts almost glow in the dark, her eyes like two stars. Her blonde hair sits perfectly piled onto her head, curls bouncing around her shoulders. She smirks and laces her fingers in front of her. Her sharp nails glint and Dean’s suddenly ten-years-old again watching his dad’s hand slice open. “Didn’t mean to frighten ya, sugar. I thought you were comin for a visit.”

The tightness in his chest lessens and he rubs his sternum. He stumbles back a step. “Not you I was lookin for.” 

The fae giggles and walks around Dean as if she’s appraising cattle. “Picky eater, are we? I’m sure I can grant you whatever it is you desire. Such a lovely thing you are.” 

Dean huffs and rolls his shoulders back. His palm stays on his gun, not trying to hide his position. The fae hums and trails a finger down Dean’s forearm. Stomach lurching, Dean swallows to prevent from being sick. “Oh, sugar. There isn’t any need for toys.” She taps his nose with her finger and grins wide enough Dean can almost count her teeth. “You know just as well as I do it won’t work.”

“Old habits die hard,” Dean spits, letting go of his gun and wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers. 

“Much as I love small talk, I don’t got all night,” the fae says. She spins to look back over the Winchester ranch. A smaller smile graces her lip, and she holds out her palms to the swaying corn. “Woulda look at that. You boys sure have made a little patch of Eden for yerselves. Good to know those deals never went to waste.” 

Dean clears his throat and looks away from his childhood home. He stares at the fae’s feet. The rancid taste of bile makes his mouth water again. Something sharp twists in his stomach and he hisses through his teeth. “This ain’t bout John. Or you. Send the next one.”

The fae looks over her shoulder, looking Dean up and down with a smug smile. She puts her hands on her hips and laughs. “Oh, sugar. Looks like yer daddy never told ya much about dealin did he?” She shakes her head and looks back out at the ranch. A cloud glides over the moon, dimming the world around them. 

“I ain’t here for yer cat ’n mouse games. There’s only one fae I’ll deal with. ’N I know yer not gonna tell me how to summon him without a price. So, ya can leave.”

The fae giggles, the movement shaking her curls. “How right ya are, sugar. Everything comes with a price.” She faces Dean, biting the corner of her lip. “Tell ya what. I’ll tell ya where to find yer little friend. All I want is one memory of sweet ole Johnny Winchester.”

Dean looks up at the sky, hoping the stars will spell out what he should do. “Take it. Not like I need ‘em.”

A low buzzing settles into his eardrums, something synchronous with his heartbeat but still so  _ unhuman.  _ The fae touches Dean’s hand, eyes flashing bright as she steals away a memory. One probably covered in dust. Dean snatches his hand away immediately, rubbing away the tingle with his thumb. She crosses her arms. “What’s yer mystery man look like?”

Dean holds his hand a couple inches shorter than his hairline. “Bout this tall. Black hair that’s grayin a bit. Blue eyes. Bright as stones.”

The fae’s eyes widen and Dean realizes they’re a cold gold color, just like her ensemble. “Never heard of him but I can cast you a lil ole spell to find him. Do me a favor n think real hard bout yer mystery man. Once the spell’s complete, I’ll tell you what I learn.”

Dean’s heart seizes for a moment. He shakes his head, biting his cheek to bring himself back into focus. He reminds himself of the kind smile, the all-encompassing blue. He hears the name. It’s a gamble. He’s just hoping he’s holding the aces.

_ “He lives beside the sunrise, on the bank of a mirror. Follow the cherry pits under oak trees beside the cemetery.” _

While fae lived by a complicated set of forever-binding rules, none of what they said made a lick of sense to Dean. Sam always found fae riddles fascinating, whispering the possible solutions to himself over supper when they were teenagers. John brought them home from his “travels.” Luckily for Dean, he could never block his brother’s ramblings completely out. 

Dean rides Baby through the sleeping Ouroboros. The gentle rock of her gait quiets the storm in Dean’s mind. “The riddle was easy enough,” he whispers to her. “He lives on the east end by a pond. Probably the one behind that old church. They planted cherry trees out there. God knows why.” 

Baby huffs her agreement as they ride past the empty bar, bank, and store. Candles flicker embers in house windows. Dean breathes deeply in the dark. He brings her to a steady gallop once out of town, tall grass whipping at his boots. Her mane tickles his neck when he leans forward, letting her set the speed. As if sensing his anxiety, she pushes ahead quickly. 

The steeple point of the church slices the moon’s face. Oak branches reach out into the dark in a still scramble, framing the image. Dean sighs through his nose, trying to ignore the fuzziness around his vision. He slows Baby, absently petting her shoulder as they slowly approach the graveyard. Baby claps her hoof against the earth, rearing her head. Dean shushes her, resting his forehead on her neck. “It’s alright, Baby.”

He swings his leg over and steps to the ground. He holds her reins as he looks around. Beside graves so old the names were sun-bleached, cherry trees sag with ripe fruit. Pits litter the ground, flesh torn open by birds. Dean faces Baby, petting her nose with a smile. “C’mon, sweet girl. Ain’t nothin to be afraid of.”

Navigating the graveyard proves easy, even in the dark. Once he reaches the edge of the forest, however, Dean suddenly wishes he thought to bring a lantern. Ducking haphazardly under branches and overstepping to avoid roots, Dean feels almost claustrophobic. Darkness pulses into his vision. It swirls with color as if Dean’s squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Dean’s reminded of those nights under the open sky before his small family arrived in Ouroboros. With the fire embers dead and his father asleep, the gloom of Mary’s death felt palpable. It tasted of ash and metal. 

Dean presses the tip of his tongue between his front teeth, flexing his hand around Baby’s reins as he tries to stay oriented on the path. It’s wider than the crossroads behind the ranch but pulses with the same energy. It crawls up through his feet and tickles the back of his neck. He lets the sensation guide him. A light pierces through the dark sooner than he expects. The closer Dean gets, the more he can see the small clearing. A squat log cabin, the bean-shaped pond, tree stumps cut back, a bobbing clothesline, a square garden. 

The trail weaves into a stone pathway to the door. Flowers border the house, the night too thick for Dean to see their color. A short porch frames the front of the house, adorned with a single rocking chair and small table. A set of boots sit beside the front door. Dean swallows. The air around the house radiates a soft sort of heat. The type of warmth Dean’s felt drying off in the sun after a mid-day swim. Dean inhales deeply, letting the cherry sweetness and water murk fill his lungs with memories of summer. He licks his lips, scanning the dark for any sort of traps. Compared to the mystery of his journey here, this  _ domestic  _ atmosphere strikes Dean with suspicion. Dean let’s go of Baby’s reins and strokes her flank, whispering for her to stay put. 

The grass under his boots muffles all sounds. With no breeze, silence overcomes Dean’s senses. All he can hear is the low rumble of his breathing as he approaches the door. Anxiety rips through his gut. He knows it’s a warning, a survival instinct he’s chosen to ignore. He rubs his abdomen in a circular motion, reminding himself that James isn’t any other fae. James didn’t taint Dean’s door and curse his blood with magic. He never tempted Dean into deals. While his small smiles and unwavering stares and low-pitched voice played to all Dean’s interests, James either ignored the palpable tension or was oblivious. Either way, he could not be as dangerous as his kin. 

Dean’s knees wobble as he walks up the stone path, remembering the consistent suggestions of James’ supposed power. Shaking his head, he whispers, “This is for Sam.” 

The porch sighs under his weight. Potted plants Dean couldn’t see litter the space, filling his eyes with sharp reds and blues. Biting his lip, Dean stares down the door. When he imagined this moment, he saw the door swinging open of its own accord. Smoke coiled out and around his chest, sweet and musky like burning herbs. A low voice beckoned him in, just as smugly omnipotent as the lady fae behind the ranch. But deeper. Kinder. Those blue eyes stole away Dean’s every desire, tuning them like a fiddle. James sat in the living room of his cabin, watching the fire as Dean stepped inside. He’d look up, smile and say, “I’ve been waiting for you.” Because fae always are—can sense human longing across even the largest desert. 

When the door doesn’t move, Dean shakes his head of the dream. He raps his knuckles on the wood. Behind him, a bird takes flight, cawing at Dean. He holds his breath as he waits. From inside, he can hear shuffling. A frustrated grumble. It almost makes Dean smile, the idea that a fae could have unwanted visitors. 

The door quickly lurches open to reveal a rumpled James. Soft flannel pants, a loose undershirt, bare feet, wild hair. Dean’s body freezes, mind racing to file away the idea that fae can look so human away with his knowledge of their cold power. 

Blue eyes blink, lips parted in just as much surprise. “Dean,” James whispers. Dean’s heart skips a beat at the sound of his name again while the fae’s eyes flash around looking for others. When James finds no one else, he swallows. Dean watches the motion, still struck. “How did you find this place?”

Dean rubs his neck, honesty tingling on the back of his tongue. “I traded a memory of my Dad for yer address.”

Once the words leave his lips, Dean knows how dangerous they sound. James holds the door tighter with white knuckles, closing it a fraction. Dean puts his hands up. 

“It’s a—I. Shit, man. Look, it’s an emergency. I don’t make a habit of showin up at customers’ houses after dark. Not unless they ask,” Dean admits sheepishly, ears hot. 

“Did you want me to ask?” James questions. There’s both humor and genuine curiosity in his tone and raised eyebrow. 

Dean runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I. Yer a fae right?” he asks rather than answer. 

James tilts his head as if surprised otherworldliness radiates from him. “Yes.” 

Dean pauses, unsure how to continue after hoping James would offer a deal—thinking that the simple question was enough invitation for the fae. His jaw clicks. “I wanna make a deal.” 

Dean examines James’ face carefully as his facial expression changes. Eyebrows raise, causing wrinkles to appear on his forehead. At the words, a glow seems to emanate from him. Eyes sparkling with promise. Lips twitching, as if unsure to smile or frown. The fae’s hesitation tells Dean all he needs to know: that he can trust this fae who doesn’t make deals, who Sam said is powerful, who has separated himself from both humanity and fae kind except the times he comes to Dean’s bar. 

“I know you don’t do deals. Least, that’s what I heard. But this is an emergency, and I trust you,” Dean rambles. 

“You trust me? Dean—” Dean raises a hand. 

“Save it.” James scoffs as Dean speaks and looks away. Dean continues, “I know the consequences of deals. Seen it with my own eyes. Tonight’s the first time I’ve ever made a deal ’n yer not nearly as creepy as yer brothers ’n sisters. And I… James, I dunno what else to do. It’s about my baby brother.” 

James stills, eyes widening as if surprised Dean used the name he told Dean while drunk. Dean knows it’s fake, knows that fae don’t just hand out their names, but it sounds real. It makes this seem more like a friend asking for a favor rather than a man asking to sell his soul. 

When the fae doesn’t say anything, Dean sighs. “I get it. Sorry to bother ya in the middle of the night. I’ll leave ya alone.” 

Just as Dean turns, James reaches out and grabs his forearm. “Wait. Come in.” 

He steps back, holding an arm out in a welcoming gesture. Dean’s arm tingles where James grabbed it. He wants to rub it as he steps into the warmth of the cabin. The pressure of his worry dissipates from his temples. The candlelight casts the room in a soft light, and the sweet scent of cedar and rainwater permeates the space. Dean’s unsure if it’s the air, but the sharp, spicy hint to the smell makes him think it’s coming from the fae rather than the candles. 

“Would you like some tea? Or I have brandy, if you want something strong.” The fae goes to a small cut out area. There’s a shelf laden with cups and bottles and jars. James looks over his shoulder, waiting for Dean’s answer while the human stands in the middle of his living room. 

Dean finally huffs a laugh as he looks around. “Tea’s fine. But I like yer style.”

Around the hearth there are two large, built-in shelves. Dean steps closer, running a finger down the leather-bound spines with no titles. “Fae’s read?”

James’ laugh reminds Dean of rolling thunder. The fae appears next to Dean, holding out a mug of tea. “How else do you think we pass the time?”

Dean shrugs and sips at his tea. The floral flavor is gentle on his tongue as the heat travels through his chest. He sighs. “I guess I never really thought bout it. Shouldn’t be surprised since ya show up once a week to play poker.”

James hums and sits in the thick armchair in front of the hearth, sipping his own tea. “That is another way I choose to pass the time.” 

Dean can feel the fae’s eyes on his back, causing goosebumps to rise on his skin. He clears his throat and turns, leaning against the wall rather than taking a seat in the other available armchair. “So, you don’t make deals?”

James squints up at Dean over his mug. “I have, on occasion, made exceptions.” 

“So, you’ll hear me out?” Dean clutches his own mug, relying on the warmth to give him courage in the face of his goal. Bobby will have a cow when he learns of what Dean’s done, so will Sam, but looking at James now he can’t help but feel this is the only choice. 

“You did show up at my house in the middle of the night, unannounced,” James says, raising an eyebrow at the human in his living room. 

Chuckling softly, Dean looks down into his mug. “I did.” He takes another sip of his tea. The taste soothes his nerves. He closes his eyes and finally whispers, “My brother took off in the middle of the night with some fae named Ruby. He’s been actin off for weeks. Not sleepin, not eatin, just writing in these notebooks. Come to find out, she’s been givin him water from some fountain to heal a broken bone.” 

Dean opens his eyes and meets James’ gaze. The fae had sat forward, lips parted. Dean shakes his head. “Ya don’t gotta tell me. I know that means he’s basically gone. Ain’t nothin gonna bring him back from that. He aint’ human anymore. But I gotta try. I’ll give ya anything. I just want him home safe.”

The words rush from Dean. They tumble to the fae’s feet and for the first time since Dean’s met him, Dean’s afraid of James. The pink that rises in James’ cheeks contrasts with the river-color of his eyes. Staring into them too long, Dean feels like drowning. No matter how much he tries to look away, he gets pulled back into their depths. He gapes, coughing to try and clear his lungs. Magic coils around James’ face, whipping out to root itself in Dean’s soul like a physical thing. It’s cut short, and Dean gasps for breath. The fae almost looks pained, nose scrunched up as he physically turns his body away from Dean. 

“It’s certainly true that humans who consume fae food belong to us. It… infects the blood. Makes it impossible to ignore the call of our home. And they cannot eat human food again. However, I’ve heard of rituals that can sever that connection. Powerful magic. And it comes with a heavy price.” 

“I told ya,” Dean croaks. “Anything.”

Those eyes flash back up and Dean’s lost again. “You should be more careful with your words, Dean Winchester.” 

Dean’s knees buckle at the crushing weight of his name in the fae’s mouth. The mug crashes to the floor and Dean reaches out his arms to catch his weight. James stands, staring down at Dean. “Promising a fae  _ anything _ , no matter how much you  _ trust  _ them, puts your own soul in danger. I could easily rip your free will from you, tie your very existence to mine and claim you for my court. Just like it was done for your brother. Would you do that, Dean? Would you trade places with him?”

James kneels and puts a hand on Dean’s chin, forcing the human to look up. Dean grinds his teeth, heart hammering itself against his ribs. “Yes.” 

The fae tilts his head, and he sighs through his nose. Dean doesn’t flinch away from the scalding touch on his chin or from the dark gaze. James stands and steps away. A chill washes over Dean, and he hangs his head, panting softly. “’S- my brother said yer powerful. Ya powerful enough to do this?”

A bark of laughter has Dean looking up again. James shakes his head and pinches his nose. “You… are so  _ determined.  _ Even in the face of my true nature, you still insist on giving yourself to me. Why are humans so… so reckless?” 

Somehow, underneath the anger buzzing in James’ shoulders and words, Dean senses pain. It’s the type of frustration and fear that follows love, especially love for those who throw themselves into danger without regard for themselves. It’s the same frustration and fear and love Dean feels for Sam, even John, after all these years. Dean swallows and stands up, brushing his hands on his pants. He leans to the side, catching James’ gaze with his own as he settles back and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Quit the boogeyman shit with me. I ain’t gonna change my mind about this. If ya don’t wanna make the deal, fine, we’re done. But ’m gonna make a deal regardless of who shows up at the crossroads.” 

Their stare down shouldn’t remind Dean of duels, fingers twitching for a gun and wondering who’ll shoot first. And it certainly shouldn’t strum up the arousal in his gut. Dean shuffles on his feet, ready to leave if he had to endure the silence any longer, when James closes his eyes. 

“I’ll make the deal,” the fae whispers, words exhausted. “But not for your soul. Humans are meant to have free will. I have another task for you.” 

Dean claps his hands, grinning wide. “Name yer price.”

James smirks at Dean’s bravado. He brushes past Dean’s shoulder, padding down a short hallway. “Follow me.” 

Stepping behind him, Dean follows the fae into the dark space. James opens a single door, showing Dean a small bedroom. As his eyes adjust, he realizes exactly what he’s seeing. Toys litter the floor, a book left open on the foot of the bed, a chest rises and falls on the tiny bed. A child. 

“This is…” James pauses, looking over the sleeping figure. “He’s my son. He’s half human.”

“What?” Dean hisses, stepping away from the door and facing the fae. “How is that possible?”

The fae’s soft smile forms into a smirk again. “Fae are capable of reproducing just as humans do. We have the same genitalia.”

Dean glances down at James’ crotch, then quickly looks away. He bites the tip of his tongue and shakes his head. “Who even— ya know what. Don’t matter. Where’s the kid’s mother?” 

James looks back to the child, leaning against the doorframe as his shoulders slump. “She died last week.” 

The rest of Dean’s questions fly out of his mind. “I’m sorry, man. That’s… is that why you got black out drunk last time ya came in?”

Smiling sheepishly, James shrugs. “Losing someone like that can be very trying, even for fae. That’s why I want to help you find your brother. No one should go through that pain. And our deal could be beneficial for me.” 

Their eyes meet again, and Dean offers an apologetic smile. He bites his cheek after a moment. “Whatcha got in mind, then?”

“His mother wanted him to be raised in both the human and fae worlds. I’ve been training him to use his powers and the rules of the fae court, but he essentially spent all his time with her. He’s been raised primarily human.” James closes the door to the bedroom, leading them back into the living room as he speaks. 

Dean picks up the mug he dropped earlier, setting it on the table beside James. “That’s nice. But what’s it got to do with me?”

James stands in front of the fire, watching the flames dance. “In short, I’d like you to continue where she left off. You would be his human caretaker. Teach him empathy, help him make friends. Show him how to be human. With your help he can exist in both worlds. I can continue to teach him to control his powers here and he can learn to be human when he is with you.” 

“You want me to help take care of yer son? In exchange for saving my brother? That’s it?” Dean asks, scoffing in disbelief. 

“It will not be an easy task, Dean. He’s still half-fae. I need to keep him safe and, if you agree to assist me, that will be your job as well. You will be his friend and his guard and his tutor. I suspect that he is lonely, in need of time with human kind. Not just his hermit father.” James glances sideways at Dean. “Do you understand?” 

“Yeah, I get it. Ain’t yer normal babysittin gig. But ya got a deal.” Dean laughs, looking down at his hands before shoving them into his pockets to hide their shaking. “Always wanted a kid to show the ropes.” 

The fae scans Dean’s face for a moment, the glow returning to his skin. Dean’s own skin buzzes in response. He feels the need to draw closer, to reach out and touch the fae in front of him. He clenches his hands into fists. James holds out his hand to Dean. “This sort of deal requires a blood pact.” 

Swallowing, Dean places his left hand in James’ palm side up. The fae pulls a small knife from the mantle, drawing a gentle line across Dean’s palm. It stings, causing the human to hiss, but he doesn’t pull away. He watches as James draws the same delicate line across his palm with the blade. They both drip blood onto the floor as their palms touch. The warm smear almost grosses Dean out, but a blast of heat sears through his chest, making it impossible to breathe. James’ eyes flash a sharp blue like a comet streaking across the sky, smoke trailing from the irises. Dean’s heart lands at his feet, his entire body trembling as that invisible power envelops a piece of his soul. He closes his eyes against it, but it does nothing to lessen the sensation. 

When James lets go of Dean’s hand, the open wound is gone. All that’s left to suggest their pact is the sticky patch of their mixed blood. Dean flexes his hand, watching the muscles move under his skin. He swallows as he looks up. 

“So, when do I start?”


	4. Born and Raised in Black and White

Dean’s childhood bedroom had changed quite a lot in recent years. The hand-drawn posters of outlaws and famous cowboys graced his walls for many years. After John passed and Dean took over the ranch at 26, he decided that while he didn’t want to move into his father’s room, he wanted to feel more like the man he had become. 

So, he mounted some hooks to hold his guitar. He also created a cabinet to hold his fishing rods and his revolver. He traded out the worn twin mattress for a larger, queen-sized one. He carved the bedframe himself, decorating it with simple spirals and florals. The bedposts, shined to show off their dark color, stand high against the walls. They hold up the canopy he uses to keep out the mosquitoes in the summer so he can leave the windows open in the middle of the night. When the sun rises in the morning, the light hits the kitchen first, warming the countertops. It leaves Dean’s bedroom in a cool, dewy glow. It always made Dean feel like he slept in a cloud, set aside just for him as an oasis. 

When Dean rolls over to the cool side of his bed, he shocks himself awake. From beyond the canopy, the small field of corn sways in the early morning breeze. He shoves out of his thin sheets and trips into his closet. He curses under his breath and quickly tugs on a pair of clean trousers. He tucks his button-up into his pants and slings his gun belt across his waist. He chews his lip when he glances at his revolver and places it in its holster after a moment. Shoving his socked feet into his work boots, he glances back outside. A calm rests over the farm as a butterfly flutters over the grass behind the house. Dean puts on his Stetson and jogs out to the barn. 

He grins at Baby when she knickers in greeting. He strokes her flank and saddles her up. “I know it’s early, Baby. But we got important guests comin. ’N one of em wants to be here just as the rooster crows. Fae are funny like that.” 

Baby nods her head as if she understands, taking the bit he places in front of her mouth without complaint. He swings over her back, settling easily and patting her side. When he clucks his tongue, she darts out of the barn, eager for a fast ride. Dean laughs into the wind, gripping his hat. He doesn’t slow her, just simply shifts his weight to guide her through town. He tosses good mornings out to folks he passes as he trots through the center of town. He wonders if James will want to circle the outskirts of town through the woods to avoid people seeing the boy. 

Dean never questioned the fact James opted out of sharing the boy’s name until this morning when they were introduced. Just in case Dean backed out of their deal, it would keep the child safe. Fae children always spooked Dean. Bobby and Ellen told him and Sam stories of changelings, how they tortured their parents with the faces of their own babies. It always made Dean’s stomach turn to know some poor soul woke up one morning and found something that looked like their child in their home, but knows that it isn’t real. Yet, when he looked at the boy sleeping in James’ cabin last night, he looked normal. Harmless even. Human. 

Dean leans forward, leading Baby around the church to the forest. He slides out of his saddle, taking her reins in hand. Baby huffs as Dean strokes her neck and scans the tree line for the path he found the night before. The urgency that forced him from bed that morning trickles out of him. He sighs and leans his forehead against Baby. “What have I gotten myself into, Baby. This is… What’d James call it? Reckless? It’s beyond that.”

Dean keeps grumbling to himself as he stands straighter. Gently holding the reins, he leads both himself and Baby on the path. She jerks back at the first touch of magic, eyes wide and circling as if to find the source. Dean shushes her with a soft whisper and a pat. “’M right here, sweetheart. Ain’t nothin gonna hurt ya. I got ya.” 

Quieted by his words, Baby allows herself to be led deeper into the woods. The path isn’t long. With the sunlight peering through the branches, the area feels almost peaceful. Dean examines the edge of the path. Ellen told Dean to never stray from the ley lines. As soon as you stepped away from the earth, you belonged to the fae. The path disappears, the voice takes hold of your mind, and you grow sick on the molasses of their magic. He shakes his head, trudging forward to the cabin he knows waits at the end of the path. This isn’t a cautionary tale, but his own damn life. And he isn’t a child anymore. 

He lets go of a breath he didn’t realize he was holding when the trees clear and the cabin comes into view. A trail of smoke rises from the short chimney. The pond glitters and the bushes Dean spotted the night before sparkle with morning dew. The sense of comfort, of summer’s eternal softness, settles over Dean again. He’s not sure if the feeling resonates from the forest or from James. It’s unsettling to know how comfortable he is in this space, how easily he lets his guard down. 

He grabs his jacket from his saddlebags and tugs it on to hide his gun. He ties Baby’s reins to a nearby tree, picking a well-shaded spot with plenty of grass for her to munch on. He kisses her nose. “Should be quick. Then you can have a real breakfast at home. I got an apple with yer name on it.” 

She gently shoves his chest with her nose, huffing again in his face. He laughs lightly and strokes her cheek. 

“I’ve never seen a horse respond so positively to a human before.”

Dean jumps at the sudden words, clutching his gun as he spins around. James stands on the porch, drying his hands with a towel as he looks over at his visitors. He squints, mouth puckered into a frown as he glances at Dean’s hand on the gun. “I apologize for frightening you. I heard hoof beats and assumed you had arrived. On time. I’m pleasantly surprised.” 

“Yeah, well. We had an appointment and Baby needs the exercise,” Dean says, his heart settling back into its rightful place. 

James steps off the porch, tossing the towel over his shoulder as he approaches Dean. He walks past him in favor of meeting Baby’s large black eyes. James smiles softly, holding his hand out for her to head butt. When she leans into his warm palm, Dean blinks. 

“She’s lovely,” James says. 

Dean coughs to dislodge the words from his chest. “Yeah. Had her since she was a foal. Owner didn’t know what he had ’n was gonna sell her to some asshole that was gonna use her to pull his plow. She’s too much of a beaut for that.” 

James hums as he continues to pet Dean’s horse. The slow stroke of his tan fingers draw in Dean’s attention. A bead of sweat trickles down his side as he swallows against his dry mouth. 

“You treat her very well. She cares for you,” James says.

Dean beams, ignoring his body’s reaction to James’ closeness in favor of basking in the compliment. He gestures to James weakly. “Well ya must not be too bad, if she takes to ya like this. She’s normally skittish around anything magical or fae-like.” 

Dean’s not sure he will ever get used to the fae’s laugh. The sound echoes through his mind, rippling through him like a stone tossed into a lake. As he chuckles, the only thing James offers is a soft mutter of “Interesting.” 

“Ya sure ya want the kid staying with me?” Dean asks, looking around the clearing. “Ya got a nice set up ’n ’m sure he doesn’t wanna be away from his father, considering what’s happened to him.”

“Are you saying you want to back out of our deal, Dean?” James asks, still gazing into Baby’s eyes as he runs fingers through her mane. 

“No! No, course not. I just… dunno how ya can be so calm bout a complete stranger takin in yer kid.” Dean kicks the heel of his boot into the grass, looking anywhere but the fae. 

“The fact you’re concerned about my parenting skills suggests that you will be an adequate caretaker.” James steps away from Baby, crossing his arms. “Have you never cared for a child before?”

Dean rubs his face and nods. “When I was a kid, I took care of my brother a lot. And later, I took care of a girl I basically consider my sister.”

“Do you feel inadequate for this?” James walks up to the porch, looking up at the sky as he does so. Sunlight lights up his hair, highlighting the silver amidst the dark brown. 

“Why wouldn’t I!” Dean almost shouts, forcing himself to stay quiet. “He’s half fae. Did ya forget what I said last night? I don’t trust fae bout as far as I can throw em.”

“Yet, you trusted me to make a deal.” James pauses, going up to the door. Dean scoffs to himself, the words slamming him in the gut. James continues despite Dean’s internal crisis. “Meet him first, then decide if he’s beyond your ability to take care of.” 

Dean opens his mouth to object but decides better of it. James demonstrated the power fae contain within the tender boundaries of themselves. Even though Dean offered his entire existence, James chose this as their agreement. Dean nods and jogs up the steps. 

In the dark of the bedroom, Dean did not get a good look at the child. When James opens the door into his living room, Dean isn’t sure what he expected when he spots the ten-year-old boy. Golden hair curls around his eyes, which glimmer an equally gold color. The symmetry of his face, his sharp nose, his cheekbones, the cut of his upper lip—they’re an exact replica of the fae standing next to him. Despite practically reflecting James, there’s a softness where sharp edges should exist. Not in his features, but in the air around him. Where James’ magic vibrates like a lightning strike, the boy’s radiates like light off the moon. 

The boy bounds through the room, launching himself at James. The older fae catches the boy with a grunt, both grinning widely at each other. James moves the child to his hip, using the towel to wipe away some crumbs around his lip. Dean swallows at the intimacy between father and son. “Did you finish your breakfast?”

“Yes, sir!” The boy chirps, voice twinkling like crystals. Dean can’t help but stare as the child pats James’ chest contentedly, already squirming to be let go. As if he hadn’t realized they had a guest, his gold eyes latch onto Dean. While the magic was more muted in the son, he still had the unwavering stare of his father. 

“Who’re you?” the boy asks, unblinking. 

Dean offers a small smile and wave. “I’m uh. I’m Dean. A friend of yer dad’s here.” 

The boy looks at James, eyebrows furrowing. James smiles, unconcerned by his son’s suspicion. “Dean is going to be your human tutor.” 

Dean huffs a laugh. “Human tutor? Really?” 

James glares at him, but the boy giggles. “Papa does talk silly. Mom said he doesn’t have good social cues.” 

Dean blinks before grinning at the kid. “Well, that’s what ’m here for. Like yer dad said. ’M here to help ya—” Dean glances at James, who nods. “Be more like yer mom, human. Not sure what that means, but we’ll learn together. How’s that sound?” 

Dean knows that by making this offer to the kid, he’s accepting James’ deal. He doesn’t have a chance to gage the fae’s reaction because the boy is forcing his way out of James’ grip and onto the floor.

“So you’re gonna be my new best friend?” the kid asks, hands on his hips. 

Dean nods and smiles. “Course I am, kid. I’ll teach ya a bunch a stuff ’n we can hang out all the time.”

The kid rubs his chin for a moment, squinting at Dean. Dean looks to James who smiles and shrugs. The kid nods sharply. He holds out his hand to Dean. “We got a deal. I’m Jack.”

Dean raises an eyebrow, shaking the kid’s hand. “Nice to meet ya, Jack. Really takin after yer dad, huh?” 

Jack beams and nods, bouncing on his toes in front of them. He looks up at James. “I am! Right, Papa?”

James playfully rolls his eyes and ruffles the kid’s hair. “Of course, Jack. Now why don’t you get your stuff packed. You’re going to spend the night with Dean.”

As the kid raises off excitedly, Dean sighs, relaxing. “Jesus, where does he get that kinda energy? ’N ‘human tutor,’ how are we supposed to know what the hell that means?”

Laughing, James goes about cleaning the small table beside the kitchen. He shrugs. “How else am I going to explain to a ten-year-old he’s staying with a stranger to learn how to be human? He barely understands that he’s both.” 

Dean whistles and sits down at the dining table. He watches James place his dishes in a bucket of water and gently scrub them. He’s still wearing his sleepwear from the night before. Dean looks away to watch the trees sway outside the window. “Guess I’m a human tutor, then.” 

“Congratulations,” James says, smirking to himself as Dean laughs. 

Dean was right in his assumption that James would want Dean to avoid town on the ride back to the Winchester ranch. What he hadn’t expected was for James to insist on traveling with him. Dean raises an eyebrow as James prepares his horse for the short trip. 

“What? Can’t trust me across town?” Dean asks, hands on his hips. 

James rolls his eyes, similar to how he’d done with Jack, as he tightens the saddle. “Your ranch is unprotected from fae. It’s in the best interests of both you and Jack if I were to ward it against other fae.” 

“There are ways to ward off fae?” Dean leans against a tree, watching the fae pet his white horse’s flank. 

“Besides iron? Yes. Symbols and spells weaved into the woodwork of the land. Or any building. I’m assuming there is a crossroads close to your home?” James looks up, relaxed against his horse. 

Dean nods, sighing. “Right behind it actually. Guess yer right. Can’t bring a half-fae kid yer tryin to keep safe onto a farm that neighbors a crossroads.” 

“Exactly. I won’t be long. Then you and Jack can get acquainted. What are you planning on teaching him anyway?” 

Dean grins and winks at James. “How to muck a horse stall.” 

Jack, who came bounding down the hall towards them, stops in his tracks. He frowns. “Hey! I thought we were friends!” 

Dean laughs, tossing his head back as the kid stares him down. The dark look in his gold eyes almost pushes Dean to stop laughing, a reminder of the power the kid secretly holds. Dean holds his hands up and shakes his head as he continues to laugh. “I am, Jack. And I will teach ya one day to ride, which means ya gotta learn to care for a horse. But I got work today, so yer gonna come with me to the bar.” 

Dean almost expects James to disagree with Dean’s activities, but the fae just hums. He takes the pack from Jack and ties it to the saddle. Jack stares up at Dean, eyes wide. “A bar? I haven’t ever seen one! Can I drink?”

“Sorry, kiddo, but ya can’t drink til yer a bit older,” Dean chuckles, wiping his eyes. “But yes,  _ my bar.  _ The Devil’s Backbone.” 

“Spooky name,” Jack comments, stepping closer to James as the fae climbs into his saddle. His small hands reach out and James lifts the kid into the saddle, bracketed by strong arms. Dean turns away to untie Baby and mount her. 

“We live in a spooky town,” Dean says, mostly to himself. “Am I leadin, or are you? I live on the west side of town, where the river breaks off into the creek.” 

James nods and clucks his tongue. His horse trots forward onto a path Dean hadn’t seen before. “I’ll lead us through town, but you’ll have to show me specifically where you live.” 

Dean’s sure he should object to the idea of James knowing where he lives, but Dean’s proven to himself that he has no survival instinct when it comes to fae. The Winchester Ranch doesn’t even have a horseshoe over the threshold, a courtesy enforced by John. 

They travel in silence through the woods. The sounds of town—people talking, carriages cutting through the dirt, doors slamming—filter around them as if in another world. Dean watches the path, searching for landmarks in case he needs to travel this way again soon. It’s not long until they’re arriving at the river and Dean nods south. “That way. When the river breaks off to the right, ya know ya found it.” 

James nods and they continue. The river splashes at the banks as if trying to escape. Dean watches the water glint, knowing Baby knows her way home from this spot. He’d traveled up and down this stretch of the river for years, catching fish and tadpoles and soaking his feet. Crickets and frogs strike up their symphony when Dean focuses on the world around him again. He looks up at the sound of his name. 

“Dean? Are we close?” Jack asks, gold eyes looking back at him.

Dean points to the green field beside them. Amongst the emerald is the brown spot of the house. “There she is, Winchester Ranch.” 

Jack gasps and bounces in the saddle, pointing in the distance. “Papa! Look! A rope swing, just like Momma had at her house!” 

Dean follows his gaze and spots the swing John set up for him and Sam when they were kids. He smiles at the memory of reaching for the sky. 

“Can I go play on the swing? Can I? Please!”

James puts a calm hand on Jack’s shoulder, keeping the kid from launching himself from the saddle. “Later, Jack. We have to set up first.”

“Ya get yer own room here, too, kiddo. Big ole bed just for you. ’N a perfect view of the creek,” Dean offers as a distraction. “We just gotta unpack yer stuff.” 

Jack gazes at the corn as they follow the land’s slope away from the river and along the creek. “Amazing.” 

Dean looks around his home, trying to see it as Jack sees it. New, an exciting adventure rather than a curse on his family name. It’s not the same as the Devil’s Backbone. Dean didn’t earn this—the wide hearth, the warm floors, the healthy soil, the large horse barn—through his hard work. He was handed it by his father who would be damned if he couldn’t work magic to his will. Dean looks away, the sun glaring despite the brim of his hat. Maybe new life could brighten the Winchester Ranch. 

  
  
  
  
  



	5. Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys

Walking around the Winchester Ranch with a fae breaks something inside Dean. A sudden exhaustion settles in Dean’s bones. Watching James draw symbols into the dirt along his crops, letting droplets of his blood fall into the creak, and carving more symbols into the wood of his threshold reminds Dean that he’s broken a promise to himself. 

He was fourteen, alone and shell-shocked as he held his brother’s lifeless body. They were playing on the rope swing, pushing each other closer and closer to the sun. Sam decided he wanted to fly and jumped from his seat. He landed on the ground with a hard thud, one Dean will never forget for the rest of his days. He screamed for help, for John, for anyone as he tried to shake his brother away. 

When his father stomped through the fields and to the swing, his face turned as red as blood. He shouted at Dean, pointing at him and blaming him for allowing this to happen even as he marched to the crossroads beside the house. Like an apparition, she appeared with a grin. 

Dean couldn’t hear the words, didn’t want to. All he knew was his own labored breathing and the numb feeling taking residence in his arms. Despite his small size, Sam weighed a thousand pounds, pinning Dean to the earth. He could not run from what had happened, from what he had done. Next thing Dean saw was his father’s boots, then his hands reaching out and grabbing Sam as if he was a feather. Dean looked up, eyes wet with tears and mouth full of apologies. But John just went back into the house, and Sam woke up an hour later as if he’d fallen asleep for a nap. And Dean knew another piece of his father was gone. So, he promised himself to never be the same, to face the weight of his actions and to keep his brother safe. 

James rubs his palms together as he surveys his work and Dean knows, deep in his gut, that he’s failed himself. Sam’s gone and now there’s a fae in his house. Dean turns away from it all, ignoring the sound of Jack setting up his stuff in the master bedroom. He rummages through the cabinets, finding his small hidden flask of Ellen’s apple moonshine. He takes a swig, letting the heat fight off the chill in his fingertips. Sighing in relief, Dean opens his eyes to find James watching him. Dean grunts and puts the flask away. “Don’t worry. I’m not plannin on getting drunk around the kid.” 

“I’m not worried about your influence on Jack, Dean. You own a bar. I’m worried about you.”

“Oh, are you?” Dean huffs, looking around his counters for anything to tidy. Anything to get out from the fae’s gaze. 

“This is taking a toll on your soul, is it not?” James asks, tilting his head. Dean grumbles to himself that it’s not adorable. “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you.” 

Dean throws his hands up. “What do you want me to say, James? Yes? You know the damn answer. Now, leave it alone, ya shouldn’t care about anything besides findin my brother.” 

There’s a pause, one that stabs Dean with regret. He sees himself reaching out, apologizing while he touches James’ forearm. Dean crosses his arms and James nods. “I understand. I will go say my goodbyes to Jack. You may bring him home at anytime.” 

James leaves the room without another word. Dean takes another swig from the flask. 

With Sam gone, Dean’s starting to realize how much his brother did for both the ranch and the bar. The stack of papers beside Dean, covered in his brother’s scribbles, gives the man a headache. He begins to work on the bookkeeping for the bar, the numbers familiar from when he first started, as Jack draws across from him. The two sit in a comfortable silence, as if they are friends who have known each other for quite some time. The nature scene Jack’s sketching surprises Dean with its accuracy, an impressive depiction of the woods and pond beside James’ house. He keeps peeking over at the kid, completely distracted from his own work. He’s about to call it quits and suggest they do something else when someone knocks on the door. 

“I’m gonna get that. Be right back,” Dean says as he stands. Jack nods, still focused on his drawing. He sticks his tongue out to focus, and Dean finds himself smiling as he goes to the door. 

The smile falls when he opens the door to find Bobby on his front porch. “Bobby, mornin. What brings ya over to my neck of the woods?”

Dean stays firmly planted in the middle of the doorway while also trying to act natural. Bobby huffs, taking off his bowler hat to wipe the sweat from his eyes. His mustang pads around Dean’s stable, tail flicking at the flies. “Don’t kid around, boy. ’M here to talk bout yer brother.”

“Ah, Bobby. Ya didn’t have to come all the way out here. I was gonna talk to ya about it tonight at the bar.” Dean leans against the door, offering a stiff smile. 

Bobby looks his son up and down, frowning. “What’s goin on with ya? You rolled through town this mornin like a man on a mission ’n now yer actin weird. Did you find Sam?”

Dean shakes his head, eyes serious as he looks beyond Bobby’s shoulder. “No. I didn’t. I know there ain’t no fixin this immediately. It’ll take… time. As ya said.” 

Huffing, Bobby looks out at Dean’s stable. Baby trots around Bobby’s horse, the two chasing after one another. “If yer doin alright, I’ll head home before tonight. I was out here fishin for dinner ’n thought I’d give ya a visit. Make sure ya hadn’t drunk yerself stupid.” 

“Bobby, I ain’t gonna throw myself a pity party just because my brother got himself into trouble. He’s a grown man. If he makes a mistake, ’m just supposed to bring him back.” Dean sighs, scratching at his stubble. 

Bobby hums and nods. He glances sideways at Dean. “Alright. Me ’n Ellen will see ya later tonight, I guess.” 

Dean nods, ready to close the door when Jack runs up behind him. “Dean! Dean I finished my drawing! Look!” 

Freezing, Dean swallows. He meets Bobby’s widened gaze as the older man looks past him at the kid. The Tell is there. In the kid’s eyes, in his smile. No amount of human blood could hide that. Bobby opens his mouth, looking back and forth between Dean and Jack. Dean purposefully turns away from Bobby, kneeling next to Jack. He takes the picture and whistles appreciatively. “Damn, kid. Who taught ya to draw like that?” 

Jack puffs his chest out, grinning. “Momma did. It was part of my “studies.” She said art is the gateway to the human soul.” 

Dean smiles back at the boy, handing him back his drawing. “Keep it safe so ya can show yer dad later. ’M sure he’ll love it.”

Jack bounces, paper gripping in his smudged hands. “Can I draw one for you!” 

Nodding, Dean waves the kid off. “Course ya can, kiddo. Parchment’s on the table next to my paperwork.” 

Before Jack takes off, he looks up at Bobby. He holds up a single hand. “Hi,” he says before running back into the house. 

Once he’s out of ear shot, Bobby grabs the front of Dean’s shirt and pulls him outside. He quickly closes the door, growling in Dean’s face. “Dean Winchester, I swear to—”

“Bobby, let me explain,” Dean tries to say, grabbing Bobby’s hand on his shirt. 

Bobby shakes him roughly. “Ain’t no need to explain. Ya made a damn deal, didn’t ya? Why else do ya got a changeling in yer house, drawin landscapes?” 

Dean swallows but doesn’t offer anything in retort. Bobby lets go of the man’s shirt, shoving him away as he begins to pace. “Ya idjit. Didn’t ya learn anything from yer brother ’n yer daddy? Ya told me ya weren’t gonna do nothing stupid.” 

Shrugging, Dean offers a sheepish grin. “I’m a Winchester, Bobby. What can I say?” 

Bobby rolls his eyes, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand. He shakes his head, then wags a finger at Dean, at a loss for words for the moment. He scoffs, gripping the porch railing. 

Dean steps closer and rubs his neck. “The deal ain’t bad, Bobby. He cut me some slack.” 

“Deal’s a deal, Dean.” Bobby looks over at him, scowl still twisting his expression. “Whatcha give him?” 

Taking a deep breath, Dean decides to tell the truth. “Kid’s only half-fae. Apparently his momma wanted him to be raised aware of his humanity just as much as his power. She died ’n his dad told me if I took care of the kid, taught him how to be human, he’d find Sam. He’s gonna save him Bobby, just because I’m babysittin his kid.” 

“A kid who’s half-fae. ’N it don’t change the fact ya made a deal.” Bobby glares out at the ranch, just as aware of its past as Dean. “I know ya can’t change what’s already done. But ya know this is a slippery slope. One deal for an emergency, then ya realize just how convenient magic is. Next thing ya know yer under a hill. Just remember that, Dean.”

An aborted chuckle leaves Dean’s chest before he catches himself. Bobby glares at him again, and Dean shakes his head. “Ya just… Fae I made the deal with said the same thing. Kinda gave me the riot act before we made the deal. He don’t typically make ‘em anyway.” 

Bobby watches Dean’s face for a moment, recognizing the softness around Dean’s eyes. “Ya made a deal with the pretty one from the bar, didn’t ya. The one who could probably win a poker game against Ellen?” 

Dean wishes he could keep himself from blushing, but his cheeks grow hot nonetheless. He nods. “Yeah. Last time he came in was right before the kid’s mom died. He actually gave me a name. I just… I got a good feelin about this one, Bobby. I got it under control. ’M gonna get Sam back.” 

Bobby turns to leave. He puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder, squeezing it as he looks out at the road leading up to the ranch. “For the sake of you ’n yer brother, I sure hope yer right.”

Dean watches Bobby go retrieve his horse from the paddock. The man looks up after mounting his horse. “Me ’n Ellen are here for you, ya know that, right?” 

Smiling, Dean nods. “I know. Thanks, Bobby.” 

With that, Bobby heads back into town, the new knowledge weighing on his mind with his worry for his sons. Dean slumps forward, closing his eyes now that he’s away from Bobby’s concerned gaze. He glances into the window. Jack hunches over a new piece of parchment, drawing something for Dean. He heads back inside to finish his bookkeeping by the boy’s side. 

“So this is the Devil’s Backbone?” Jack asks from the front of Dean’s saddle. Dean looks over the building with Jack. Sun-bleached and weathered, the bar doesn’t look like much from the outside. Dean had done what he could to a building as old as Ouroboros itself. He smiles, proud of his accomplishment. A sign hangs from the roof of the porch. Dean carved the words from the plank himself. 

“Sure is, Jack. Not what you expected?” Dean asks as he dismounts. He grabs the kid under the armpits and helps him to the ground. Jack still looks up at the building, the sun hitting his squinting eyes. He shines just like his father and that thought makes Dean’s palms sweat. 

“Not at all. I thought it would be creepier,” Jack admits. Dean snorts as he grabs his bag and leads the boy up the steps. 

“Sorry to disappoint, kiddo. But this an honest establishment, despite the name.” Dean pushes open the door, smiling at the hazy interior of his bar. Stools sit on the table tops, allowing Benny and Garth to sweep under them. Both look up when they hear Dean enter. Before they can share their customary greetings, their eyes land on the smaller person standing beside their best friend. 

“Good evenin, brother,” Benny says, leaning against his broom. “Who’s yer friend?” 

Jack lifts a single hand again in an aborted wave. “Hi. I’m Jack. Dean’s my new best friend.” 

Dean laughs lightly, putting a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Jack, this is Benny and Garth. They work with me in my bar.” 

Jack looks Benny up and down, taking in the wider physique without question. “Is that man really your brother? He looks nothing like you.” 

Benny laughs, putting a palm to his chest as he leans forward into it. He shakes his head, teeth bright under his beard. “Oh, he’d be so lucky to look like me, kid. We ain’t kin, just old friends. Almost like brothers.” 

Dean rolls his eyes at Benny’s words and Jack tilts his head. On the younger fae, the action strikes Dean as even more adorable. Garth steps forward and holds out a hand for Jack to shake. “It’s nice to meet ya, Jack. Dean’s a great friend to have.” 

Huffing at Garth’s nice words, Dean steps further into the dining room to place his pack on the bar. Jack shakes Garth’s hand with a smile. “So am I!” 

Garth grins, patting Jack’s hand. “Well, maybe you ’n I could be good friends, too, huh? Ya like music, Jack?”

Jack’s eyes widen as he gazes up at Garth’s lanky form. “Do I! Momma always sang to me before I went to sleep.” 

Dean almost flinches at the casual way the boy talks about his mother. Dean lost Mary around the same age and couldn’t speak to another soul for months. Never mind actually talk about her memory. Dean looks over his shoulder at the kid as he pretends to look through his pack. He thinks maybe it’s the part of him that’s fae, the part that can push aside human emotion and live carefree. 

“Well, I play the piano here every night. I could show ya how to do yer scales, if ya’d like. That’s if Dean’s okay with it.” 

Jack runs up to Dean, tugging at the man’s shirt. “Can I, Dean? I’ll be good.” 

Dean strokes his stubble, raising an eyebrow and humming as if he’s thinking about it. “I dunno, Jack. Is that really whatcha wanna do? Or do you wanna help me clean the glasses for tonight.”

“Dean,” Jack whines, drawing out the vowel. “Please?” 

Dean playfully shoves the kid’s shoulder and nods. “Go. Have some fun. I’ll show ya the ropes behind the bar later.” 

“Thank you!” Jack chirps, bouncing on his toes as he runs past Garth to the piano. Garth, surprised to have such an eager student, follows the boy. 

Benny steps up beside Dean, leaning back against the bar as they watch Garth show Jack where his fingers are supposed to go on the keys. “’M not gonna butt into yer business, Dean. But ya know Charlie ’n Jo are gonna be up yer ass later tonight, right?” 

Dean sighs, moving around Benny to get behind the bar. He starts polishing glasses he knows are already clean just to do something with his hands. “I know, Benny.” 

Benny winks at Dean, picking his broom back up to finish sweeping the floor. “Good luck, brother.” 

Once customers started to filter into the bar, the sun was already peering through the windows. Bobby sat up from his table to close the shutters as Dean lit the candle chandelier. Bobby takes up his usual spot at the bar rather than claiming a seat at the poker tables. Ellen follows him, but her eyes are glued to the fae child attached to Garth by the hip on the piano bench. Having practiced scales for an hour, the boy found watching Garth’s fingers play out a few jigs even more mesmerizing. Dean sends a water and a shot of whiskey over as a thank you. 

Ellen leans over the bar and hisses. “So, ya really made a deal to care for some changeling ’n Bobby wasn’t just pullin my leg?”

Dean shrugs, working on pouring Ellen and Bobby some drinks. “He’s not a changeling, Ellen. He’s half-fae, half-human. He’s got a right to be around people. Look at him, he’s a kid.” 

Ellen slaps the back of his head. Dean rubs the spot, glaring at the woman he sees as a mother. “Shit, Ellen.” 

“Dean Winchester, I swear to god, I might just put you in the ground before some sick bastard takes away the pleasure.” 

Rolling his eyes, he pushes the glasses closer. Bobby takes his without a word, but Ellen ignores hers. She continues to watch Jack laugh and mimic Garth’s motions above the keys. Dean sighs, looking up as Charlie and Jo both stalk up to the bar. While the two had been silent while serving the few men who’d wandered in, their eyes held all their questions. 

Charlie pokes Dean in the chest, her tray tucked under her armpit. “You owe us an explanation.” 

Behind her, Jo nods as she pours another glass of ale. Dean huffs under his breath, moving around Charlie to hand a customer a plate of food Benny finished. “I don’t owe you anything, red.”

“So, yer gonna ignore the fact we think you had a bastard child?” Jo asks, hip cocked as she holds the bubbling ale up. 

Ellen shakes her head, pinching her nose at her daughter’s words. Dean glances at Ellen, surprised she hadn’t told Jo the truth. He mouths  _ thank you _ , but she just stares down at the bar. 

“Y’all got eyes? Kid don’t even look like me,” Dean scolds. He moves around the bar, filling a few more ale glasses to the brim for the poker table, noticing they’re running low. “’M just takin care of him for now.” 

“Why? ’N what does Sam have to say about yer new babysittin gig?” Charlie asks, pushing into Dean’s space. She knows how much Dean hates being cornered, that if he’s pinned long enough he’ll spill the beans about anything. It’s her stare, so wide and unassuming. It’s almost as effective as Sam’s puppy dog eyes. 

“Sam’s outta town on a supply run. He doesn’t know.” Dean says the words with finality, biting back the syllables. His pulse throbs in his throat, but he leans against the bar to feign normalcy. 

“So, if he ain’t yers, whose is he?” Jo asks, still holding the ale. 

Dean considers reminding her that she has a job to do, but decides better of it since their mother is sitting in front of them. He scrambles for an answer, something plausible. Charlie and Jo know he doesn’t have any other friends, just faceless lovers. The probability of Jack being a bastard son is more likely than Dean doing a favor for a mystery friend they’d never met. 

“Kid’s Dean’s godson. His momma passed away ’n now Dean’s helping take care of the kid while his father gets his shit together,” Bobby says, glaring at both Charlie and Jo. 

There are times that Dean can’t wait to be Bobby’s age. The man’s sweet, but gruff enough to demand authority and respect. His words quiet the group and the rest of their questions. Dean sighs in relief and nods along. “His dad’s got a lot on his plate, so I said I’d take care of Jack every now ’n then. Give him a break.” 

Charlie looks Dean up and down, her green eyes squinting with wonder. He knows she won’t question what Bobby said in front of the man, but he also knows she knows him better than anyone. Next to Sam, anyway. After a moment, she smirks and slaps Dean’s chest. “Well, look at our boy, Dean. Growin up and bein like a dad. It’s always good to get practice in, Dean. Gotta be ready when the right person comes along.” 

The teasing is a familiar and appreciated track of conversation. Dean latches onto it, leaning forward and sneering at Charlie playfully. “’N what about you, red? Wanna a chance to practice?”

Charlie tilts her head back as she laughs. “Don’t joke, Winchester. Kids are not for me.” She smiles softly. “But lemme know if you need help.” 

Jo steps up behind Charlie, wrapping her arm around the other woman’s shoulders. “Exactly. Just because we don’t understand what’s going on don’t mean we can’t help. Takes a village, right, Mama?” 

Looking up from the bar, Ellen smiles at her daughter. “It sure does, baby. Don’t you forget it. Either of ya.” 

Dean looks around at his little family. All their broken pieces came together to form a cohesive whole of love and compassion, a safe space away from the dangers of Ouroboros. Dean smiles and nods. When he glances at Jack again, the boy waves excitedly. Dean waves back, realizing he can give this boy what James cannot: the meaning of community. 

Jack and Garth play out each customer with simple nursery rhymes. Dean hums along to the tunes, chuckling to himself whenever Jack accidentally hits a wrong note. It happens more and more as the last hour before close wears on. Wiping his hands clean, Dean saunters over to the piano. He leans his arms against the top and rests his chin there, smiling at the boy. “Got enough practice for today, huh, kiddo?” 

Looking up, Jack pouts. The slight quiver instantly reminds Dean of Sam and his stomach swoops. He shifts his weight a little and asks, “Well? What do we say to Garth?” 

“Thank you, Garth. Maybe I can learn more tomorrow?” Jack turns his pout to the other man, who instantly beams in response. 

“It was my pleasure, Jack. If Dean’ll let me, I’d love to show ya more.” Garth glances up at Dean, winking. Dean can’t help but smile at their combined mirth over music. 

“You can learn more piano another time, after I show ya some stuff about the bar. That sound okay?” Dean pushes off the piano, stretching his arms above his head. 

Jack jumps from the bench and runs up to Dean, hugging his waist and pressing his face in Dean’s stomach. After jumping, Dean looks down at the messy crop of gold hair. He runs a hand over Jack’s head, swallowing thickly. “Thanks, Dean.” 

“Yer welcome, kid. Now how bout we go home? I’m beat.” Garth stands and closes the piano. His eyes are soft as he watches Dean interact with Jack. He fixes a knowing look on Dean, who glares weakly back. Garth’s seen how Dean acts around children, how he turns into a mess of charm and excitement. Garth yawns and shoulders his jacket to head home. 

“I’m gonna head home, myself.” Garth waves to them both. “See ya tomorrow.”

Dean nods back. “Tell Bess ’n the kids I said hi. I’ll see ya later.” 

The door swings shut, leaving Dean alone with Jack. The kid rubs his eyes, which remain hooded as he sways on his feet. Dean sighs through his nose, scooping the boy up onto his hip. Tiny arms wrap around his neck and Jack leans his head on Dean’s shoulder. “Am I learnin to be human good?” 

Dean laughs softly to himself as he blows out all the candles. In the moonlight, Dean rubs Jack’s back. “Ya did real good, kiddo. Coulda had me fooled. You were getting real good at the piano, too.”

“You think so?” Jack whispers, nuzzling Dean’s shirt. The man grabs his pack from behind the bar and carries Jack out to Baby. The horse perks up as the two approach, nudging her nose against Jack’s side. The boy giggles and reaching out to pat Baby’s forehead. 

“I know so,” Dean says as he gets them settled on the saddle. He leads Baby home in a slow trot. Jack’s soft snuffles against Dean’s shirt fill the quiet of the night. Something clicks back into place. Dean can’t keep the grin off his face as he thinks to himself,  _ James got the short end of the stick.  _

Dean definitely is the one who got the short end of the stick. 

Once he arrived home, Jack refused to fall back asleep until they went through a whole routine. This routine included: cleaning Jack’s teeth, changing him into his pajamas, chasing him around the house to put on said pajamas, singing one lullaby, telling two bedtime stories, and fetching a glass of water. When Dean finally closed the bedroom door shut on a sleeping Jack, Dean could practically hear his bed singing his name. 

He shuffles into his own room down the hall, shedding his layers without care of where they land. Falling into the bed with only his undergarments on, Dean instantly falls asleep. 

Flashes of red and blue light taint his dreams. Swirling images of a fountain, cold rooms, even colder eyes, swarm his mind. He sees Sam, face pale and emotionless as he walks away from Dean. Dean’s reaching out, screaming his brother’s name when a small voice lurches him from his short, restless slumber. 

He sits up with a grunt, peering around the room with one eye as he gets adjusted to being awake again. He’s drenched in sweat, chest heaving. He instantly forgets it when he sees Jack’s crumpled face. He slides to the edge of the bed and holds his arms out to the kid. “Hey, buddy. You okay?”

Jack shakes his head and crawls onto the bed beside Dean. He hides his face in Dean’s pillow. A small hiccup, muffled by the fabric, echoes through Dean’s room. He reaches out, rubbing soft circles into the boy’s back. “Bad dream?”

There’s a small nod, followed by another hiccup. Dean keeps massaging Jack’s back. “Me, too, kiddo. Wanna talk about it?”

Jack turns his head to peek out at Dean. Tears flood his eyes, sparkling from the soft glow the gold irises emanate. Dean wipes away the wet streaks with his thumb, laying back into the bed. “What can I do to make ya feel better?” 

“Take me to my Papa… He always scares away the bad dreams.” The words are a whisper, barely heard through the fabric of Dean’s pillowcase. Judging by the slant of moonlight through his window, it’s only been a couple hours since they arrived home. Dean closes his eyes for a moment, longing to simply pull the boy closer and force them both to get some much needed sleep. When he opens them again, Jack is sitting up. “Please, Dean.” 

“Course, buddy. Lemme just get dressed. Ya think yer dad’ll still be awake?” Dean stands from the bed and goes about lazily pulling on a shirt and his pants. 

As he tugs on his boots and hops around on one foot, Jack looks out the window at the moon. “He should be. Papa likes to read by the fire this late at night. He can tell when I’m having a bad dream.” Jack fixes his eyes back on Dean. “Why couldn’t you?”

Dean lifts Jack from the middle of his bed, but it doesn’t abate the questioning stare. Dean shivers, feelings as if Jack can see his very soul with that stare. “’M not yer dad. Parents got special powers. They can always tell when yer havin nightmares.” 

“Oh,” Jack whispers. Dean steps out into the night. Already, the humidity sticks to his skin through his clothes. He lifts Jack higher on his hip. “Even human ones?” 

Dean remembers all the times he woke up alone in a house that whispered. Heart hammering, tears streaming, lungs catching. And no one to protect him. “Yes. Even human ones.”

For the second night in a row, Dean rides through the woods to a fae’s house. The atmosphere still shimmers. Dean blinks away his exhaustion, sure that it’s his mind tricking him into believing what he should not. An owl hoots to announce their arrival. Jack waits for Dean to lift him from the saddle, but then the boy sprints for the porch. The same glow flickers in the window, proving what Jack said about James’ late night reading. 

Without bothering to knock, Jack opens the door. Dean stands in the doorway as Jack throws himself into James’ lap. The fae stares down at his lap, blinking as he processes the fact his son has suddenly appeared in the middle of the night. After a moment, he wraps his arms around the boy and kisses his forehead. Dean swallows, closing his eyes and pushing back the memory of him doing the same to Sam for years. Of Mary doing it to him. Those are the things Ouroboros took from him, that the fae took from him. 

That tingle settles over Dean’s skin. His fingers twitch. He opens his eyes to find James’ gaze on him. There is no spoken question, just wordless concern. 

“He asked to come home,” Dean offers, whispering. “Nightmare. Yer the only one that can fight it off.” 

James nods, looking back to his son. He runs his long fingers through Jack’s hair. “Come in, Dean.”

Glancing back at Baby, Dean sighs. He wants nothing more to climb back in the saddle, race home, and land back into bed. The past couple of days have worn through him like water through a stone. He sways on his feet but forces himself inside. He closes the door behind him and sits down in the other armchair. 

He leans his head back against the top of the chair, settling into the soft cushion. Eyes closed, he lets the warmth of the fire and the cloying scent of James ease his muscles. Breath by breath, his body melts into the chair beneath him. Typically, his mind wanders. Now, he fixates on the crackle of the fire, Jack’s steadying breathing, and the soft sound of James humming a nameless melody. 

Within minutes, both him and Jack are asleep, leaving a smiling James alone in the night. 


	6. Deep in the West

On any given morning, Dean likes to take his time waking up. He enjoys the slow stretch, the cooler air on his skin, the warmth of his dreams he still clings onto. This morning is no different as he shifts on whatever he’s sleeping on. He knees press into his chest, right foot tingling from going numb. His neck throbs as he lifts his head, squinting at his surroundings. He’s not surrounded by the billowing of his bed canopy and the sound of his rooster. Instead, he hears water boiling and conspiring whispers. He looks over the back of the chair, spotting Jack basking in a patch of sunlight while James bustles about the stove. Dean takes in the curtain of plants littering James’ window. They reflect the sunlight, casting the room in a green glow. James nods along to whatever Jack whispers to him from his spot, obviously trying to stay quiet to let Dean sleep. 

Dean sits up a bit, back cracking as he stretches out his spine. Despite his body aches, his mind is quiet. Rested. He stretches his arms above his head, causing another crack in his neck. He sighs as his muscles and bones resettle. Both James and Jack pause their conversation, unleashing their otherworldly stares upon Dean. He waves them off, standing to allow feeling back into his legs. “Continue. ’M just wakin up.” 

James watches Dean from the stove, even as Jack continues with his excited chattering. Sapphire eyes graze slowly over Dean’s chest as the human stretches. Dean’s exaggerating the tilt of his hips a bit, but knowing he’s got an audience warms his gut in a way he hasn’t felt in months. 

“And then Garth showed me how to play the piano, Papa! He taught me scales and how to play a couple nursery rhymes. He says if Dean lets me, I can learn more today. I like the piano.” 

“That’s wonderful, Jack. Your mother loved art, especially music. It’s—”

“An expression of the human soul. I remember, Papa.” Jack tilts his head and looks up at his father. “Maybe we could get a piano so I could practice?” 

James looks down at his son as he pours out three cups of hot water. He stirs in some tea leaves, filling the room with the floral scent of what Dean recalls is chamomile. “I’ll see what I can do, Jack. For now, you may just have to practice with your new friend when you’re with Dean.” 

Dean moves to the dining room table, taking a seat silently. James sets a mug before the man, nodding in his direction. “Good morning. I hope you slept alright. I couldn’t find the heart to wake you. You both slept so deeply.” 

Shrugging, Dean takes a couple sips of his tea. It scalds the tip of his tongue, but the heat down his throat wakes him more. “I appreciate it. I’m just glad Jack was able to sleep. I apologize that we showed up so late.” 

“No need for apologies. This is Jack’s home. He may return whenever he pleases.” He makes eye contact with his son, raising an eyebrow. “But let us not get into the habit of waking Dean in the middle of the night simply because you miss me. You both need your sleep, not midnight rides through town.” 

Jack slumps against the wall a little, cradling his cup of tea to his chest. He nods. “Yes, Papa.”

Sitting across from Dean, James tilts his head. “Did you have any problems yesterday, Dean? Jack was regaling me with tales of his bar adventure.” 

“None that I couldn’t handle. Nosy friends and family. I told them Jack’s my godson and I’m helping his dad out by taking care of him every now and then.” Dean sips at his tea, basking in the heat as he stretches his toes under the table. 

“That is an adequate explanation. I’m glad you had no trouble beyond that and Jack’s… precocious nature.” When James smiles in the sunlight, Dean can see his crow’s feet. The slight wrinkles don’t dull the color of his eyes but somehow comfort Dean. Fae age, lose sleep, discipline their kids. Dean smiles back, pulse echoing in his ear as they maintain eye contact. 

“Do you plan on taking Jack into town again today? Or would you like a break to become better adjusted?” 

The question causes Dean to blink. Jack sits forward in his spot, voice heightening in pitch as he whines, “But Papa, I was gonna learn more piano.” 

“I understand, Jack. And I promise you will have another chance to practice. However, I find it fair to Dean to have a break. Don’t you agree? He’s a very busy man.” James turns in his seat to face his son, leaning his elbows on his knees. 

Jack moves his quivering pout to Dean, eyes already shimmering with tears. Dean’s seen it a million times before. From Sam, then Jo, then Charlie. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “That trick don’t work on me, kid. Too many years of it got me desensitized.” 

The pout morphs into a full frown as the boy hides his face in his mug. James hums, looking over Dean. “So, you wish Jack to stay with me today?” 

Dean nods, spinning his mug in his hands. “If that’s alright. I got more ale ’n whiskey barrels comin in today. I gotta stop by the bank ’n stop by a friend’s house to hire ranch hands for the harvest. I don’t wanna bore Jack to death.” 

He offers the kid an apologetic smile, shrugging as if it’s out of his control. Jack shakes his head vehemently, the tea held at his chest sloshing with the movement. “I won’t be bored. I want to see the town. I’ve never been to Ouroboros.” 

James runs a hand through his hair, then leans on his hand against the table. He gazes at his son, expression soft. “I understand, Jack. But we must respect Dean’s wishes to run his errands alone. We’ve discussed this, remember. Boundaries are important to both fae and humankind.” 

Jack slams his mug against the floor, sending liquid flying around him. His eyes flash a blinding gold. It hurts Dean’s eyes as if he’s been staring into the sun. The boy’s voice reverberates with a different, lower tone, as if he had multiple voices. “I wanna go with Dean!” 

One moment, James is sitting relaxed in his seat, the next he’s kneeling before Jack inspecting the boy’s face. After speaking, Jack slumps forward. James strokes his cheek, whispering, “Jack, you must control your anger. You exhaust yourself using your powers so.” 

Jack nods lazily in his father’s hands. Dean can’t help but stare, wide eyed as the ringing in his ears fades. He pulls on his ear lobe, working his jaw to clear his hearing better. After a moments hesitation, Dean goes over to the boy and his father. He places a hand on Jack’s knee, offering both a smile and a truce. “Tell ya what, kid. You behave for yer dad today, I’ll take ya out fishin tomorrow.” 

Blinking slowly, Jack’s pupils track from James’ face to Dean’s. A spark brightens his expression marginally and he smiles. “What’s fishing?” 

“It’s when you catch fish. For fun or to eat, depends on what you’re lookin to do. It’s relaxin. I do it all the time.” Dean strokes a thumb over Jack’s knee. The boy slips from James’ grasp on his face, leaning against the wall. He nods, pinning Dean with another unwavering stare. 

“You promise?” 

Dean puts his hand over his chest. “Promise.” He winks at the boy, then stands up. James strokes the boy’s hair, waiting for a moment as Jack starts to doze against the wall. 

“Thank you,” James whispers when he stands up beside the human. 

“It’s nothin. I love fishin.” 

James examines Dean’s profile. “You are not deterred by his powers?” 

Turning on his heel, Dean grabs his mug and leads James out onto the front porch. Dean sits on the rocking chair as James leans against the doorframe. “He’s a child. Children have tempers.”

They both look out over the cleaning. Clouds cast slow-moving shadows over the forrest. A promise of rain. Dean allows himself to rock. “You are unlike any human I’ve ever met, Dean.” 

“’N yer unlike any fae I met, James.” Dean meets the fae’s gaze, smirking. “We’re an odd pair. But that’s alright with me.” 

James smiles softly, just small enough to hide the sharpness of his canines. Enough to make him look human. Dean loses the ability to breathe. He gulps at his tea despite the lingering heat. He sighs loudly after the last sip. “Besides, Jack’s a good kid. Gotta lot to learn. But that’s what we’re here for. Right?” 

“Indeed,” James says in return, otherwise silent as he ponders over Dean’s words. 

The silence between them is not as comfortable as the silence between Jack and Dean. It’s not unfriendly but charged with a sort of tension Dean is unsure how to negate. Looking over James’ face, Dean can recognize part of what he feels as attraction. Another part, however, is fear. Both James and Jack could rip into Dean’s soul like vultures to a corpse. The image sends a shiver down Dean’s spine. 

“I’m sure you must be getting to your activities for the day,” James offers to break the silence. 

Dean nods, standing from his seat and holding out the mug for James to take. “Thank you. For letting me sleep here. And the tea. Tell Jack I’ll be back early tomorrow morning. It’s the best time to go fishing.” 

“I will,” James says with another small smile. “Goodbye, Dean.” 

Dean waves over his shoulder as he hops from the porch and greets Baby. She nods her head at him, as if to shove him back into the cabin. Back to the two people starting to carve a space into his chest, a space he’s saved only for those closest to him. He shakes his head, climbing into the saddle and riding off into the woods despite the fact his heart seems to be beating in the clearing behind him. 

  
  
  
  
  



	7. Bait a Hook

One of Dean’s favorite pastimes—besides playing poker, fishing, and enjoying the embrace of lover— is to take Baby to an open patch of dust and let her gallop as fast as she can. The power of the animal between his thighs, the feeling of wind blowing through his hair, the open sky moving above him. It quiets the despair bubbling deep within his chest. There’s nothing in these moments. No one to trouble him. Not even his thoughts. There are times, however, when a lazy trot through the woods in the early morning creates the same feeling in Dean’s chest. 

Dean woke up before the sun. The promise of moving water, jumping fish, and a warm patch of sun, eased him into a languid pace as he dresses. He dons a lighter set of trousers and button-up, choosing a wider brim hat than his signature Stetson. His curling hair falls about his eyes, reminding him that he’ll need a trip to the barber soon. Each of these actions occupies his attention singularly, in a way that hasn’t happened in years. He packs some apples for breakfast and saddles up Baby. 

The past few times Dean’s traveled to James’ home, he’s rushed. He never slowed enough to appreciate the scrawl of the oak branches above him. Their leaves rattle as if to welcome him again. Baby, now familiar with their path, relaxes underneath him. The tickle of magic in the air does not bother her. When the man inhales deeply, the dank smell of wet leaves and cherry blossoms ground him. He’s aware enough to not stray Baby off the trail, to remain on a straight course to James’ house. But at this pace, he can appreciate where the fae has chosen to set up his home. Away from town enough to enjoy true, unaltered nature. Blanketed by the woods, away from judgment and pity. Exactly what Dean dreamed of. 

Once again, as Dean stops in the clearing before James’ cabin, the door opens to welcome him. James stands, holding the door open while in his pajamas. Dean chuckles at his sleep rumpled hair as he lands onto the soft grass. A few bees surround the flowers around the porch. They bob around Dean as he excuses himself. James raises an eyebrow at him, playfully smirking. “Polite to bees are you?”

Dean shrugs as he enters the cabin. “They do a lotta good. I got in their way. Seemed like the nice thing to do.” 

James hums as he closes the door. At first, Dean thought of it as a noncommittal way of filling the silence. A means to end a conversation. Dean’s starting to view it as a mode of expressing different emotions. At this moment, it’s an amused sound. Dean claps his hands as he searches the living room for his new fishing partner. 

“Where’s the kid? We’re losin daylight.” 

“Dean, it’s barely past dawn,” James scolds, shaking his head. “Jack’s in his bedroom getting dressed. I hope fishing is as exciting as you’ve made it out to be. Or else I fear you’ll have a very tired, angry ten-year-old on your hands.” 

“Oh, it’ll be more than exciting. It’ll be liberating,” Dean teases, grinning at the fae. James rolls his eyes, going back to his armchair and picking up a book. 

Dean takes this as an invitation to retrieve Jack. The boy races around his room like a tornado, tearing clothes from his dresser and tossing them onto the floor. Dean laughs and crosses his arms over his chest. “Whatcha doin in here? Makin a nest?” 

Jack jumps, squealing in surprise. He grips the side of the dresser and giggles. “Dean! You came!” 

“Course I did, Jack. Promised ya that yesterday,” Dean says, stepping into the room. He starts picking up individual items and folding them. He sets them on the foot of Jack’s bed, glancing at the boy’s pajamas. “Havin trouble pickin out what to wear?”

The boy nods, and Dean huffs a short laugh. “Ain’t a dance, son. Just wear something comfy ’n ya don’t mind gettin wet.” 

Jack glares at Dean’s teasing tone but follows the man’s instructions. He’s quickly dressed in a collarless cotton shirt and pants. Dean pats the boy’s back. “Ready to catch some fish?” 

The only answer Dean gets is Jack bounding out the door like a buck out the barn. Dean huffs, shaking his head. He places Jack’s clothes back in his dresser, humming to himself. James’ voice rounds the corner and into the bedroom, warning Dean of Jack’s excitement. James laughs as the boy circles the armchair, gesturing with his hands about the fish he wants to catch. 

“You’ve inspired him,” James says, palm flat against his book and legs crossed. 

Jack holds his arms out from his chest. “I wanna catch a fish this big, Dean!” 

“I dunno about that big, but we’ll try to catch some fish alright.” Dean ruffles the kid’s hair as he passes, leading the firecracker child to the door. “Maybe even one big enough to eat for dinner.” 

Jack pauses in his skipping about the room, blinking up at Dean for a moment. “If we catch a fish, can we have dinner at your house?”

“Sure, Jack. I love a good trout.” Dean holds the door open for Jack, hoping the boy will take the hint and head outside. 

“So, could Papa come over for dinner? And eat the fish with us?” Jack tilts his head, eyes flashing back and forth between his father and his new friend. 

James looks over the armchair, eyebrows high in question. Dean watches the fae for a moment, wondering if James even ate animals. He nods in the face of Jack’s excitement. “Sure, yer both welcome over for dinner anytime. Let’s just hope we catch three fish big enough to eat. Else we’re gonna go hungry at my house.” 

James relaxes at Dean’s chuckle, smiling softly at the human. “When should I arrive at your home tonight?” 

Jack leaps on his toes from one end of the kitchen up to the door. He throws himself off the porch, shouting “yes!” into the sky. Dean shakes his head but smiles anyway. “Any time before dusk. I like to cook before the sun goes down despite the heat. If that don’t bother you.” 

“Not at all,” James says. “I’ll be there. Enjoy your day of fishing.” 

Dean nods and closes the door. Jack’s already dancing beside Baby, singing as he tells her about their dinner plans. She flicks her tail as if to match his beat.

“Alright, alright. Settle down. Yer gonna scare my horse ’n the fish,” Dean says, glad he took the morning ride for what it was: quiet. 

Dean pinches the cricket between his forefinger and thumb, holding it up for Jack to see. The boy scowls, nose scrunched up in disgust. Dean pushes the hook through the bug’s body, then lets it swing free of his grip. “That’s how ya bait a hook. I know it’s gross, but it’s what the fish eat.”

Jack squints at the hook sharply glinting in the sun. “Doesn’t it hurt the fish?”

Dean baits the hook on the second fishing line and nods. “It does a little. But not enough to kill it. If the fish ain’t big enough, or we got enough to eat, we set it free.” 

“And you said this was fun?” Jack asks, looking his fishing rod up and down when Dean hands it to him. 

Chuckling, Dean steps up to the bank of the lake on the other side of town. “I know how it sounds, but why don’t ya try it out. If ya don’t like it, we can leave soon as we catch dinner. I’ll show ya how to ride Baby later.” 

Jack’s eyes widen, and he glances back at the black horse. She grazes around the wide oak tree they parked their stuff under. “You would? Then why don’t we try that first?”

“Patience, kid. It’s a virtue.” The irony of the words strikes a chord in Dean and he laughs. “I’m yer human tutor, ain’t I? Fishin is a good lesson in patience. If ya wanna catch fish, ya gotta wait. ’N ya gotta be quiet.” 

Jack watches Dean’s hook away and nods. “I think I understand.” 

“Alright,” Dean says, positioning his pole behind him. “Now watch me cast.” 

Dean throws his weight forward, pole and line following smoothly over the water. It settles on the water, hook sinking beneath the reflection of the sky. “Now you try.” 

After watching Dean’s motions, Jack copies it with aborted movements. The hook flies over his head and Dean holds back the urge to duck. It keeps flying, however, landing out on the water. Dean grins. “Not bad, kid. Now we wait. You feel a little tug on the line, yank up. Get that hook stuck in the fish’s lip. Then we pull it back in.” 

Jack stares out at the line slithered across the surface of the lake. Dean can feel the argument brewing. The same one Sam gave him when he was twelve. The same one Dean gave John when he was fourteen. It wasn’t until Dean caught his first fish, felt the adrenaline pulsing through his veins, that he understood the magic of something as simple as fishing. 

“Just wait, Jack. They’ll come,” Dean whispers, settling on the damp shore. 

Jack squats beside him, watching the water ripple. Both human and fae breathe as a breeze sways through the trees around them. A few birds call through the sky. A frog hops along the bank away from Dean. Baby chews in the background. Dean sighs happily. 

Out on the water, a large splash disrupts the water. Jack gasps and points. “Dean! Did you see that? It was a fish!” 

Dean grins over at Jack. “Sure was. If we wait long enough, we’ll catch him. Looks like a big ’un, too.” 

Dean expects the silence to wrap around them again, to soothe him back into a peaceful mindset. Seeing James so much sets Dean on edge. They hadn’t discussed how to save Sam, yet. Only Jack’s progress. Dean grinds his teeth a little, trying to refocus on the world around them when it disrupts into chaos. 

Jack leaps up with a shout. He flicks his rod up in what Dean would call perfect formation. The tip bends under the weight, line going taut. Dean stands, abandoning his own line to help Jack keep a hold on his rod. The boy laughs, looking up at Dean. “I got him! I got him!”

Dean laughs along with him, pulling at the line to drag the fish to shore. “Ya sure did. And damn fast, too. Must be beginner’s luck.” 

Jack dances on his toes as Dean keeps pulling the fish in. With each tug, the fish struggles more. Dean lets’ the line loose a little. “Sometimes ya gotta give a little slack or the line will snap. It ain’t about rushin. It’s about what?”

“Patience,” Jack answers. 

Dean nods, hip checking the boy lightly. “Good.” 

Together they get the fish onto the shallow end of the lake. It flops in the water, squirming to get free of the line. Jack drops his rod, padding out to grab the fish with his bare hands before Dean can have him lift the line out of the water. When Jack grabs at the fish’s body, it leaves the water for just a moment. It slips from his grip and slaps against the surface of the water. Jack jumps after it, trying to keep the fish from swimming back into the depths. Dumbstruck by the boy’s actions, Dean can only kneel over with laughter as Jack picks up and drops the fish five times. 

Jack glares over at Dean as he tries to fit his wet fingers over the large body for the sixth time. “Help me! He’s gonna get away!” 

“I got it, I got it.” Dean lifts the line from the water. He’s tall enough that the fish dangles above the water, fin still kicking as its gills gulp for air that isn’t there. 

“Gimme! I wanna hold him!” Jack shouts, reaching out for the line. 

Dean hands it over to the boy, raising an eyebrow. “And that’s how we ask nicely? Did yer parents not teach ya manners?” 

Jack looks down even as he takes the fish from Dean. “No, sir. Thank you.” 

Dean grins and kneels in the shallow water, taking in the catch. “Good. Now ain’t this a beaut. Not bad for the first catch of the day. I reckon it’s big enough to keep. Ya wanna see how to take the hook?” 

“I gotta take out the hook?!” Jack shrieks, tossing the fish away in disgust. 

Dean leans forward to catch it before it lands in the water. He overcompensates, the motion sending him hurtling into the lake. Water fills his nose and he gulps for air when he stands on his knees. His hair sticks to his forehead, hat floating to shore. He cradles the fish against his chest, panting. He spits out the lake water, glaring at the kid as Jack laughs so hard he doubles over. 

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. Ya almost let our dinner go.” 

If Jack mysteriously trips into the water later that morning, who’s to say it was Dean’s fault? Certainly not his horse. 

  
  
  
  



	8. I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For

Passing the time on the Winchester Farm has always been a chore. John used to stomp about the wooden planks, stirring up the dust with his heavy footfalls. The ground shook with him, vibrating inside Dean’s bones. A warning shot to move out of the way. The one spot that always remained quiet was a yard beyond the rope swing, under an oak tree beside the creek bank. The earth is always cool and a little damp, pregnant with life. At sixteen, he carved his initials into the bark, hoping one day to find someone worthy of taking to the spot. 

Dean sits beneath the branches, brim of his Stetson covering his eyes as he watches Jack play. The boy launches himself at the swing, leaping onto the rope with enough force to send himself hurtling through the air. His excited squeals make Dean chuckle. Sunlight flickers between the leaves, dancing across his chest. A soft green tint coats Dean’s body, pulling him into another world. One where Sam can be safe, happy here. One where Dean does have a son to care for. One where Dean does have someone to come home to besides a bottle and a bed. A world where maybe Dean can finally have what he wants and not pay the price for it. 

Watching Jack play, however, Dean knows he’s already cashing in his debts. Sam’s still missing, buried underneath the earth like a living corpse. The thought of James coming to his home for dinner sends his heart into a race against his own worries. He may want to wrap himself in the comfort of his affections, but the fact that he’s stuck in a deal sends ice through his veins. 

Jack calls his name as he reaches for the sky, tiny fingers scrabbling for a piece of heaven. He laughs when he misses, extending his arm out to wave at the man lying still on the damp ground. Dean smiles slightly and waves back. 

This quiet won’t last forever. And Dean’s probably going to be the one to shatter it. He always was. 

Jack skips around the kitchen, singing some rhyme he learned from Garth as Dean feeds the stove more wood. Looking out the window, the shadow of the house extends over the corn to the barn. An hour til dusk. Dean rubs his chest, trying to loosen the vice grip his muscles have on his ribs. Jack skips past again, moving so fast he creates a breeze. Dean’s eyes follow his uninterrupted joy, lost for a moment as he waits for his pan to heat. 

Dean’s tossing some salt and pepper over the fish fillets when a knock echoes through the house and Dean’s chest. His arm jerks, tossing salt across the counter. He curses, closing his eyes for a moment. He presses his sweaty fingertips against the grains, scooping up enough to sprinkle behind his left shoulder. “Jack? Can ya get the door? ’S probably yer dad!” 

“Got it!” Jack shouts back, already running through the dining room. His mother’s china rattles in the cabinet and Dean shakes his head. He needs to do better to teach that kid to slow down. 

The actual flame before him barely holds a candle to the timber and crackle of James’ voice as he follows Jack into the kitchen. While the ceilings of the ranch house are fairly high, the room wide enough to accommodate a large family, James fills the space as if it’s an outhouse. Everything draws itself to his figure, as if he holds his own gravity and every aspect of Dean’s surroundings are in the fae’s orbit. Including Dean himself. He looks James up and down, taking in the fae’s black and white ensemble in one quick look. 

“Heya, James. Hope yer hungry,” Dean says through his smile, laying the fillets skin down to the pan. The sizzle fills the room and Dean’s attention, letting him catch his breath. “Jack caught some big ones in the river today, so we’re eatin real good tonight.” 

He tosses a wink to the boy, who attempts to wink back. James and Dean both watch as Jack tilts his eyebrows, trying to force only one eye to close even as he blinks. James chuckles softly, ruffling the boy’s hair. “That so? I’m quite impressed.” 

Dean’s stirring his pot of cream corn, swallowing as he feels the fae’s eyes land on his shoulders. “Is there anything you need help with, Dean? I may not be as knowledgeable of human food as you, but I’ve cooked quite a few meals with Kelly for Jack.” 

Plastering a fake smile on his lips, Dean looks over his shoulder. “S’alright. I got it covered. Should be done real quick. Make yerself comfortable.” 

Tilting his head, James watches Dean for a moment. Dean wonders if the fae will question his behavior and how he should respond, but James just nods. “Do you mind if I look through Sam’s notes? I feel it may help me better understand what to look for.”

Jack looks between the two of them, frowning. “Who’s Sam?” 

Dean looks away from the two fae in his kitchen, eyes hot and stinging. “My brother. He’s… on some business.” 

Jack hums and goes to stand next to Dean, watching him stir the corn. “You have a brother?” 

“Yes,” Dean mutters, jaw clicking. “Younger. You’ll meet him soon enough. Now why don’t ya go color ’n leave me ’n yer dad to our borin conversation?” 

Jack perks up, putting a hand on Dean’s elbow. “Can I go to the paddock and draw Baby?” 

Dean’s smile this time is real, thinking of the days he spent perched on the wood fence watching the mares run. He nods. “Course ya can, kiddo. Just come inside before it gets dark.” 

With a hoot, Jack runs from the room to gather his stuff. When the door swings shut, Dean slumps. He whispers, “Ya probably shouldn’t talk bout our deal in front of the kid, James.” 

“You are right,” James says, voice low. He sits down in a stool Dean left for Jack beside the window. James sets his elbow on his knee, chin perched in his fist as he watches Dean cook. “I shouldn’t discuss such personal matters in front of him. He’s still… learning about the nature of deals. It can be hard to demonstrate morality when faced with such human struggles, though I hope he’ll have a better time at it than I have.” 

“Ya mean to tell me fae learn bout good ’n evil in fae school?” Dean snickers, shaking his head as he thinks of all the selfish deals John made over the years. 

James huffs a small laugh, leaning forward to look out the window. He watches Jack balance himself on the fence, notebook placed on his lap. “Not in school, but in a way, yes. We are taught that magic always has a price, for anyone. No matter how powerful you are, magic always asks for its debts to be paid. We are taught to weigh the risks and to fill that void within ourselves with something of equal value.”

“So yer jigsawin yerselves together just to use magic? Sounds like a shitty thing to live through,” Dean mutters, staring at the grease in the pan as it cracks with heat. 

“It can be. Which is why there are those of us who tend to avoid magic that costs more than it’s worth. There are those hungry for more, who eat at their own souls just to gain more power than their brothers. But we are…” 

“Divided?” Dean asks, looking up to meet James’s gaze. “My dad told Sam ’n I about the courts.” 

The small smile that earns Dean twists his stomach even as it makes his heart skip a beat. “Yes. We are divided into courts. I hope to teach Jack to exist outside of this… emotionless grey area fae are taught to exist in. We only know to weigh the risk to ourselves, not to others. His humanity gives him what most fae do not.”

“A heart?” Dean jokes as he flips the fillets.

“Compassion,” James says, looking back out at his son. “He has the potential to change the way we see deals. Magic is a beautiful thing when those who use it respect all forms of life. It’s not meant to be a strength used as a hammer. It’s a warm embrace from a mother, a kiss from a lover, kind words from a friend. It sweetens our world, if we let it. Unfortunately, so many abuse it.” 

Dean steps away from the stove, grabbing some plates from the cabinet. He stands before the open door for a moment, staring at the white contents. He hangs his head for a moment, then glances at James. “Do you have any ideas on how to get my brother back? Or is this… Am I wastin yer time here?” 

James glances at Dean but doesn’t fully turn his attention onto the man. “It’s not a waste of time, Dean.” 

“Ya sayin that because yer actually getting something out of it?” Dean asks, knuckles going white where he grips the cabinet door. 

James sighs and pinches his nose. “Your brother is one of hundreds, Dean. Maybe even thousands of humans seduced into the fae courts. My kin love to keep them, to fill them with fae food and liquor, to watch them slowly lose themselves to the cold of our world. They want to watch as others suffer our same fate.”

Dean grabs the plates, slams the cabinet door closed, and puts the plates on the counter. “And how’s that an excuse for the fact ya haven’t found Sam?”

James stands and steps closer to Dean. While Dean stands a whole inch taller than the fae, James somehow towers over him. The air around them crackles with the same lightning strike energy the fae unleashed the night Dean asked for their deal. His eyes spark, pupils blown wide as he stares Dean down. “You should show me some respect, Dean. You are perfectly aware of what I’m capable of, yet you…” 

James clenches his jaw, lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes lose their light, but the unearthly shine keeps Dean’s heart hammering in his chest. James reaches out, touching Dean’s elbow with his fingers. Dean looks down at where the fae touches his arm. James slides his fingers across the ditch of Dean’s elbow, wrapping his palm around Dean’s arm and squeezing it gently. Dean shivers but doesn’t shake off the touch. When James strokes his thumb over the soft inner part of Dean’s arm, he takes the silent apology for what it is. 

“My kind are… selective,” James mutters, looking down at where he’s touching Dean. “When a fae decides to take a human home, to keep them as a pet, it’s different than a deal.”

They shuffle together, Dean leaning back as James steps in. Their knees brush and Dean’s lungs seize, his vision blurring slightly in the corners. “We have our own desires, Dean. It’s a courting ritual. When a fae chooses a human, there’s a reason—something about that human that makes us feel powerful, yet so vulnerable.” 

James glances up through his eyelashes, squinting slightly at Dean’s awestruck expression. “Do you understand?” 

Dean’s teeth click when he closes his mouth. He nods, swallowing the lump in his throat he’s pretty sure is his heart crawling its way out of his body. His muscles shake with the strike of his pulse. “I understand.” 

The course whisper seems to appease James enough to back away from Dean. His fingers slide down Dean’s forearm, tickling the inner part of his wrist and sending another shiver through Dean’s body. “If I can understand your brother better, I could possibly discover who really took him and which court she belongs to. From there, it’s figuring out how to cleanse Sam of our magic.”

James perches back onto the stool, pulling his bowler hat up to run a hand through his hair. He watches Dean for a moment. “A deal is a deal, Dean. But this is no easy task. For you, for me, for your brother. We are all at risk.”

Dean leans against the counter, legs unable to hold up his weight anymore. He stares down at his boots, freshly coated in dust from the ride home. He kicks his heel into the floorboard, chewing on his lip. “Look, James. I’m—”

James holds up a hand, offering a smile that brings out the wrinkles around his eyes. “No need for apologies, Dean. You are under a lot of stress. This is your brother.”

Nodding, Dean gestures to the plates steaming on the counter. “Dinner’s ready, if you wanna fetch the kid, I’ll set the table.” 

Without another word, the fae stands and strides towards the door. Watching him leave squeezes his heart into a vice, and he chokes on his own fear. 

“Wait,” he croaks. James pauses in the doorway, looking back at Dean with a raised eyebrow. Dean’s cheek flush, remembering that every fae can sense human’s every desire. “I… We can look at his journals. Tonight. After Jack’s asleep. I’ll help you.” 

For the first time since they met, James winks. “Thank you, Dean.” 

Family dinners have taken on multiple definitions across the years for Dean. They meant warm apple pie and milk before bed. They meant watching his parents giggle and kiss each other and kicking Sammy’s feet beneath the table. 

Then they turned into quiet affairs around a campfire, the only conversation created by coyotes on the horizon. They were moments of absolute silence and reflection, moments where John favored looking into the bottom of a bottle than the faces of his own flesh and blood. It wasn’t until Dean and Sam spent summers on Bobby and Ellen’s farm that Dean relearned the meaning of a family dinner. It was Dean whispering thank you for the first full meal he’d eaten in weeks, and Sam scarfing down anything Ellen put on his plate. It was Bobby’s acceptance of Dean’s silence, and Ellen wiping his cheek clean as she gave him more potatoes. Those slowly turned into dinners of easy conversation: discussions of farm life, of school, of crushes, of dreams. It’s where Dean first admitted he wanted to own a bar, where Sam told them he had his first kiss, where Jo told them she was in love with Charlie. 

That dinner table was strong enough to hold the bodies of all their demons. It kept them all afloat even when it felt like they were drowning in the shifting sands of the west. 

At the Winchester’s dining table, however, there were only three chairs. An empty one at one end for John, one on the side for Sam, and one at the other end for Dean. Looking around to find new faces in these seats brings a new glow to the house around Dean. As he breaks apart his fish and eats, Dean notices new things about the home he grew up in. The rafters turn gold from the light of the stove and the lantern in the middle of the table, radiating an inner warmth Dean never knew possible. His house could smell like a home-cooked meal, hard-earned. His table could be surrounded by smiles as Jack explains the mystery of fishing to James. 

“Did you know you have to take the hooks out of the fish when ya catch em? It’s gross, Papa. I don’t like it. But this fish is really good,” Jack rambles, spearing his fish with his fork. 

James chuckles softly as he pushes around his own food. “I’m sure it is, Jack. But sometimes gross things are necessary. If we want to eat, we have to put in the work. If we want to live, we have to put in the work.”

Jack huffs and rolls his eyes. Dean chews silently, smirking as he watches the conversation unfold. “You sound like, Dean, Papa. Why does fishing have to be a lesson?”

“Oh? And what did Dean teach you today?” James asks, glancing at Dean with a raised eyebrow. 

“The virtue of patience,” Dean says, sitting up straighter in his seat. “Right, Jack?” 

The boy nods and talks around his food. “I gotta wait sometimes, ’n then exciting things will happen.” 

Dean snorts and shrugs at James. “Close enough.” 

James chuckles again, lifting his fork and taking a small bite of the fish. He hadn’t eaten much since they all sat down. Dean hadn’t expected much, considering humans cannot eat both, but he’s still filled with surprise when the fae hums in appreciation. 

“I was patient, and I caught a fish. And then Dean fell into the river.” 

Dean points his fork at Jack, who only grins back, gold eyes twinkling. “Hey. Yer the one who almost let our dinner go.” 

Jack giggles and jumps in his seat a little. “Papa, ya should have seen it! He looked like a fish!”

James chews silently, only his smile and the crinkle of his nose giving away the fact he’s amused. Dean sits back, pushing away his plate. “That was supposed to stay between us, Jack. Man’s honor ’n all that.” 

Blinking, Jack stares at Dean, mouth in a tiny circle. “So, I can’t tell Papa everything we do?” 

Dean stutters as he scrambles to find a good answer for that, realizing he may have overstepped in his role as caretaker. James touches Jack’s shoulder, smiling. “You can tell me whatever you wish, Jack. I am always willing to listen. But Dean is right, some secrets are meant to stay as such. Some things are not yours to share. Though, I can say I’m quite glad you shared that information, it’s quite the image.”

Dean’s nodding along with James’ words, marveling at how easily the fae parts with parenting advice when he realizes he’s being had. Dean sits up again. “Hey!”

James chuckles, holding his chest as he watches Dean’s cheeks turn red. Dean points his finger at the father this time. “I’d like to see you catch a fish with yer bare hands without falling into the water. See who’s laughin then.” 

James’ laughter only grows as Dean grows more flustered, both just glaring at each other. Jack looks at his father, watching his eyes soften to expose the hardened stones behind his glamour. It’s a vulnerable moment that Dean misses, but Jack can see nonetheless. One he hasn’t seen since his own mother died. Looking between the two men, he can’t help but grin. This is what they’ve all been looking for. 

When Jack starts to fall asleep in Dean’s armchair before the fire, James scoops him up against his chest. He rocks the boy gently in his arms, watching Jack’s face relax. Dean watches from the doorway, drying the last dish. As James cradles his son, listening to his quiet snores, his own body relaxes. His steps aren’t as stiff, his shoulders lower, his own breathing slows. Dean chews his lip before backing away into the kitchen. 

A moment later, James appears, whispering, “Where is he sleeping?” 

Dean nods towards the hallway, leading James through the dark to Jack’s makeshift bedroom. Papers litter the bed, all covered in sketches of the Winchester Ranch, of James’ cabin, of Baby, of Dean himself. Dean carefully stacks them and places them on the dresser as James tucks the boy into bed. James pushes the boy’s hair aside, kissing his forehead. “Til morning, my little star.” 

Jack stirs a little, smiling and patting James’ cheek. “Til morning, Papa. Goodnight.” 

Dean blinks rapidly in the dark, the night ritual tapping into those memories he tries to keep locked tight inside himself. He goes to the door and whispers thickly, “Night, kid.” 

Jack rolls over, humming as he pulls the blankets around himself. “Night, Dean.” 

James closes the door softly, sighing and rubbing his face as they stand in the hallway. There are dark purple circles under his eyes and even in the dark, Dean can spot the shimmer of James’ gray hair. 

“You love him?” Dean asks, swaying on his feet. 

“More than anything,” James whispers. With that, he leaves Dean in the hallway in favor of the flickering candlelight of the dining room. 

  
  


Dean runs his palms down his thighs under the table. He reaches out for his glass, taking another swig of water with a slight wince. The bottle in the bottom cabinet is calling his name, telling him to pop the top and quench the part of him that knows this is a losing battle. Glancing across the table, Dean watches James’ eyes track over Sam’s scrawling notes. They’re both surrounded by books, telling the other about any information Sam may have written down about “Ruby” or the court she lived in. The fae runs his thumb over his bottom lip as he reads, eyebrows furrowed just slightly. Dean gets lost in the motion, licking his own lips before he realizes James has caught him staring. 

He clears his throat and sits up. “Ya wanna drink?”

James shakes his head and flips the page. He’s on the third notebook to Dean’s first. Rubbing his neck, Dean nods and turns his attention back to the words before him. 

“Have you figured anything out?” Dean asks, running his thumb along the corner of the pages. 

The fae glares from under his eyebrows. “Not yet. Keep reading.” 

Nodding again only makes Dean dizzy. He stretches out, arms high above his heads as he calves go taut. His boots nudges James’ calf. Dean mutters an apology, pushing his chair back to give them space. James sighs and marks his spot in Sam’s notes. 

“Will a drink make you less…” James gestures to Dean. “This?” 

Dean looks down at himself, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You will not stop fidgeting, and it is quite distracting,” James says, tone flat as he goes back to reading. 

Slamming his book closed, Dean stands and heads into the kitchen. He trails his hands over the buffet table he wishes the family made from scratch. He pats the top as he swings open the cabinet and looks at all the bottles he has stashed underneath. He taps out a wordless tune even as James turns his gaze on Dean. 

“It’s a good thing you’re a bartender, Dean,” James offers, lifting the book off the table and bringing it closer to his face. 

Dean snorts as he pulls out two tumblers and fills them with some whiskey. “Cause I ain’t much of a reader?” 

“No, because you can drive a man to drink,” James retorts, not looking away from the book as he reaches out for the glass he knows Dean will offer. 

When Dean presses the cool glass into the fae’s hand, their fingers touch. James looks unaffected, simply sipping at the amber liquid as Dean quakes with the aftershocks of their touch. With each passing moment, each soft look, each sarcastic comment, Dean’s ability to simply  _ be  _ around James frays around the edges. 

He downs the drink and sighs, looking up and the ceiling. “Ya gotta lot of jokes for a fae, James.” 

“Yes,” James says, flipping the page. “Because you know so much about fae.” 

Dean puts his glass down and pours another, huffing. “I know more than ya think. More than I should.” 

James glances up at the softer words, realizing the bite had left them. He sets aside the book, head tilted as he watches Dean. The human shrugs off the fae’s gaze and sits down across the table. “Let’s just find something useful. I swear, I shoulda known my brother was this over the moon for magic. Kid’s been obsessed with riddles ’n spells since we were young.” 

“He keeps very detailed notes,” James comments. “This is actually quite a good compilation of facts, all things considered.”

“All things considered?” Dean asks, leaning over the table to peek at the pages James is reading. 

“Considering he hasn’t seen the inside of a fae court until recently,” James says, finger underlying the words as he reads. “And his observation about our increased numbers in this area is certainly warrant for concern.”

Dean pales, gripping his glass tightly. Sam’s angry expression fills his vision. “What?”

“Someone has been calling more fae to Ouroboros. There’s been so many deals, the earth is practically soaked with magic. You haven’t noticed? Sam’s notes claim that you especially are sensitive to these changes. Fascinating.” 

“You find the fact I can’t breathe around magic fascinatin?” Dean asks, glaring at his guest. James blinks, eyes glazing over. Dean raises an eyebrow but doesn’t interrupt the silence. 

“You stop breathing when an area is heavily consecrated?” James asks, eyes refocusing on Dean. 

“Yeah, so?” Dean’s face scrunches up, nose wrinkling as his eyebrows furrow and his lips pucker. 

“So, when we made our deal?” 

“I got a little asphyxiated, that whatcha wanna hear?” Dean asks, muttering, “Kinky bastard.” 

James waves his hand as if to shoo away the words. He quickly flips through the pages of the notebook before him, then yanks open another one he’s read. He leans closer, turning the pages as he tries to follow the words as they bleed into the margins. Dean rests his cheek on his hand, leaning against the table as he watches the fae pull the pieces together. Just as Jack does, James sticks his tongue out when he’s concentrating. Dean laughs through his nose, content to drink in silence. 

“I believe I know where Sam is,” James says after a moment, sitting back in his chair. Despite the news, he looks exhausted. Defeated even. He glances up at Dean, then passes the man the second notebook he read. “Across a six-month period, Sam cataloged any areas with intense magical energy based upon your ability to breathe. He noticed that activities that do not normally leave you out of breath became laborious in certain areas around town.”

Dean scowls down at the notebook as he reads his brother’s words. Names of places, notes about Dean’s behavior, comments from “Ruby” about deals that took place in those areas. “My brother was using me as a fuckin dowsing rod?” 

James chuckles, covering his mouth as he watches Dean become more irate at his brother’s work. Dean grunts and tosses the book back onto the pile. He pours another drink. “So, you know where he is?” he mumbles into his glass before swallowing the whiskey. 

“I’m fairly certain Sam’s in the Unseelie court,” James admits, holding his glass out for Dean. The human pours him another shot. “His descriptions of this ‘Ruby’ and the fountain she retrieved her healing water from are unlike anything within the Seelie court. I also have no reason to believe that the Seelie court would call upon our kin. And his notes concerning your ability to breath prove useful in locating him.” 

“Ya don’t know where the Unseelie court is? I thought you were a fae?” 

“Dean, do I strike you as an Unseelie fae?” James raises an eyebrow even as he holds his arms out, exposing himself to Dean’s scrutiny. 

Dean rolls his eyes and stares at the table. “Course not. I wouldn’t have made a deal had I thought you were.” 

James nods, patting the book pages before him. “I have not been to the Unseelie court in this region and had no intention of doing so until now. But here, Sam writes about a spot in the woods where you were setting rabbit traps and you said, quote, ‘Feels like a horse is sitting on my chest.’ He also notes that there is a cropping of sod as well as mushroom circles and flowers bright enough to look like blood.” 

“All signs of fae,” Dean mumbles to himself. He gazes past James’ shoulder, imagining his brother doing all this work alone. Sneaking out in the middle of the night with a lantern as he reexamines places Dean struggled to breathe in. “Son of a bitch was right.” 

“He was, but that’s no concern of our deal.” Human and fae meet eyes across the dining room table. Dean feels as if a rattlesnake is poised in James’ eyes, the rattling drowning out all other sound in Dean’s mind. “We’re going the get your brother back, Dean.” 


	9. Sundown

Jack sticks his tongue out as he carefully cuts into a blade of grass with his fingernail. The body snaps, giving way to his green-sticky fingers. He examines the split down the middle, nodding as he sets it on the front steps of the Devil’s Backbone. He grabs two of his twigs, crossing one over the other to create a body and arms. He’s working on carefully tying a knot over the two pieces with his grass strip when someone approaches him. 

Two boys, around his height, stop before his stick person workshop. He raises a hand, offering a small smile. “Hello.” 

One boy with black hair and eyes green as the grass looks him up and down. “Hi.” 

The other boy, one with hazel eyes and a missing tooth, leans closer, peering down at the person in Jack’s hands. “Whatcha makin?” 

Their skin doesn’t shimmer, iridescent, the same way Papa’s does. No glamours. Not fae. Human. 

Jack holds out the headless and legless person, tilting his head as he looks at it. “A person. I don’t know his name yet, but I haven’t given him legs or a head yet.” 

“So… yer makin a doll?” the first boy asks, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Not a doll. A person,” Jack says. He reaches out for the stick he found in the same of a Y. He ties it around the body, creating the person’s two legs. He grins down at his work. He searches around even as the two human boys watch him. He finds a red and yellow leaf. Piercing the top and bottom so it sits on the top of the stick, he holds it back out for the boys’ inspection. “See?”

The boy missing a tooth laughs and asks, “What’s his name?”

Jack frowns, looking back and forth between the two human boys and the person he’s made. He stares into the blotchy face of his creation, begging the yellow to give him some clue. 

“Tell me your name.” Jack’s voice echoes around them as if he shouted, shaking the leaves above them with a new gust of wind. Jack’s eyes flash for a moment, quick enough that the humans before him miss it. 

The black-haired boy is just about to offer his name,  _ Henry,  _ when a quiet voice speaks up between them.

“Simon,” the stick person in Jack’s hand whispers. “My name is Simon.” 

Jack holds his new friend up to introduce to the human boys, only to find they’re running down the street. Jack raises his hand again. “Bye. Guess it’s just you ’n me, Simon.”

“Who needs em, Jack,” Simon hisses back. 


	10. Dodged a Bullet

Dean stands before his Billiard’s table, pool stick clutched in his left hand as he grins at the poor bastard across from him. Benny smirks back, cue perched on his broad shoulder as they wait for Charlie to finish setting the balls in place. Jack stands to Dean’s right, watching the colors spin as Charlie sets up the rack. She glances up at both of them with a smug smile.

“Now, boys. I want a fair game. No rough housing, no name calling, and no kissing,” she says as she stands, hands on her hips. 

Bobby groans, turning in his seat to grab his glass of beer. Benny raises his eyebrows, chuckling as he points his stick at her. “If I remember correctly, darlin, that was entirely yer fault. Got us both drunk as skunks ’n set us loose.”

Dean circles the table, eyeing the cue ball. “’Nough chit chat. This is supposed to be educational.”

Jack steps up to the table, hands holding onto the sides to lift himself up high enough to see what Dean sees. He makes eye contact with Dean. “You kissed Benny?”

Dean snorts, shaking his head. He waves Jack closer. He picks the kid up and sets him on the side of the table so he can see Dean’s motions. “He kissed me. But we’re just friends. Now watch me set up this shot.” 

Dean leans over the table, stick posed in his hands with the end balanced on the curve of his thumb. He moves it back and forth, searching for the perfect spot to send the cue ball hurtling forward. Jack tilts his head. “You’re friends with my Papa. Have you kissed him?” 

Dean misses his shot as he overshoots. He glances up at Jack with eyes wide, forgetting he’s ruined his shot for a moment. Benny bites his bottom lip to keep from laughing. Charlie tugs at a loose strand of hair, turning her face away to hide her amused smirk. Bobby raises his eyebrows before standing to leave the conversation entirely, muttering about how he doesn’t need to know the sordid details about his son’s love life. 

Putting a hand on Jack’s shoulder, Dean smiles and shakes his head. “No, Jack. Um. Kisses are usually for people you love differently. People you love romantically. You’ll… get it more when you’re older.” 

Jack puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder, mimicking the man’s posture. “So, you love my Papa?”

Charlie busts out laughing and kneels over. She wipes her eyes as Dean glares at her. “Lock it up, Red.”

She waves her hands at them, shaking her head as her body rocks with laughter. Benny shakes his head behind them, holding his hand over his eyes. 

“Sorry,” Charlie gasps. “It’s just that, I was wondering the same thing.” 

Jack watches Charlie, squinting as he takes in her behavior. He giggles before turning his questioning gaze back on Dean. “So?” 

Dean opens his mouth for a moment, then closes it. He swallows and chuckles to hide the shakiness in his voice. “Not yet, Jack. I like him. But we aren’t that close yet.” 

“Do you love me?” Jack asks, pouting slightly as he considers Dean’s answer. 

Petting Jack’s hair, Dean smiles. He leans closer. “Course I love you, buddy. We’re thick as thieves.” 

Jack’s answering grin warms over Dean’s embarrassment. He meets Charlie’s eyes over the kid’s shoulder, warning her to drop the topic. Benny huffs and claps his hands together. “Well, that conversation aside. I believe it’s my turn. Lemme show the kid how to  _ really  _ start a game.” 

Stepping back, Dean pats Jack’s back. “Don’t listen to him, Jack. ’M the best pool hustler in Ouroboros. Don’t you forget that.” 

Jack beams, nodding before turning his attention to Benny’s form. The older man explains each movement to the kid, demonstrating the movements, how to plan and follow through. As Jack listens, eyes wide, Charlie steps closer to Dean. 

“So. Gonna tell me what’s going on between you ’n Jack’s dad? And who this mystery hunk even is?” Her whisper is teasing as she elbows his chest. 

Dean glares at her in his periphery and grumbles. “Ain’t nothin to tell, Charlie. Just like I told the kid. I’m just doin him a favor.” 

“And is he doin you any favors?” Charlie waggles her eyebrows, poking Dean’s hip. 

“Charlie!” Dean hisses, turning them both from the game. “It’s not like that. Don’t go putting ideas in people’s heads.” 

Charlie looks over his face for a moment. As her eyes widen, Dean knows exactly what she’s realized before he can even cover. She leans closer, jabbing Dean in the chest. “You do  _ love  _ him, don’t you? I know that love-sick look. Seen it a million times on ya, Winchester.” 

Dean glances over his shoulder at the crack of the pool balls. Benny lands a couple stripes in the left center and corner pockets. He curses under his breath, and the man calls his stripes. Benny continues to show Jack how to measure his angles with the pool stick when Charlie grips Dean’s chin, forcing him back into their conversation.

“What about this guy has got you so tangled up, Dean? You never keep this kind of stuff from me. What  _ is  _ going  _ on? _ ” 

Dean pushes away her hand to keep her from touching him again. “Stop  _ stabbing  _ me and maybe I could get a chance to explain.” 

“Oh, because that is what’s got you locked tighter than a pickle jar,” Charlie mutters, crossing her arms over her chest. She looks Dean up and down, slumping a little. “I just. I haven’t seen you this happy in a while. ’N I know it’s the kid. And whoever his dad is.”

“Who said I was happy?” Dean asks. He thinks of Sam, comforted by the fact they know where he is, sort of. Somewhere in the woods beyond the west side of Ouroboros. They just need a plan to rescue him without getting killed. 

Charlie scoffs, shifting her weight. “Dean. You sing while you work. You’re offering to do more chores around the bar. You’re actually hanging out with us rather than just working with us. Hell, you got more color in your face. Shall I continue?”

Dean blinks, looking down at the floor as he considers what she’s said. Jack brought purpose to his life. Sam was grown, making his own—albeit, bad—decisions. His friends, his family, they loved him, but they didn’t  _ need  _ him. Besides his everyday work at the bar, he had nothing to do, to get up for in the morning. And Jack looks at him as if he hung the moon, just like his brother used to do. Dean swallows and nods. “Ya know what… I am. I am happier. That kid. He’s something else, Charlie.” 

Charlie smiles and pulls Dean into a hug. “I always knew you’d be a great dad.” 

Blushing, Dean wraps his arms around her shoulders. He kisses her forehead. “Thanks.” 

Behind them, Benny clears his throat. “If you too are done with your little secret chat, it’s your turn, Dean.”

Charlie pats Dean’s back as they part. Dean grins at Jack, lifting his stick up to his hip and striding around the table. He picks out a few good angles. “Ready to see a pro at work, Jack?” 

“Benny says he’s fairly sure he’s got you beat this round, Dean,” Jack says, laughing as the other man ruffles his hair. 

“Damn straight, kid,” Benny says. He winks at Dean. “The hustler’s distracted.” 

Smirking, Dean sets up his first shot on the table. “Oh, we’ll see about that. Prepare to have your ass handed to you, Lafitte.” 

“Bring it, Winchester,” Benny sneers, leaning on his pool stick. 

Dean pats the table, calling out, “Corner pocket.” He closes one eye, lining up his shot to send the orange five forward with just enough force to pull the blue two with it. 

Just as the crack of the cue ball sounds, a gunshot fills the bar. Dean jumps, automatically reaching out to grab Jack. He presses the boy to his chest and squats behind the thick legs of the table. He pants, clutching the back of Jack’s head. Looking around, he notices several other patrons taking cover. Charlie presses herself against the other leg of the table, peering underneath it to get a look at the man standing at the door. Benny stands by the table, pool stick discarded at his feet. His revolver is steady as his cold gaze as he points it at the stranger. 

Dean looks down at Jack, whispering, “You okay?”

Jack nods, fingers clutching tightly to Dean’s shirt. Dean looks back up at Benny, cursing himself for not bringing his own gun. 

“Benny?” Dean whispers, but the man doesn’t look away. 

The stranger walks further into the bar, gun still pointing to the ceiling. Benny’s barrel follows his every move. “I suggest you take yer business elsewhere.” 

The stranger raises his other hand. He spits on the floor and tips up his hat. Benny looks over his face, at the scar across his left eyebrow, at the matching one across his palm. “Trust me when I say I don’t like to repeat myself.”

“I came here for one thing. Give it to me ’n I’ll be out of yer hair,” the stranger says, looking around the bar. He walks between the tables, kicking over chairs. No one flinches, but everyone holds their breath. Dean ducks his head, trying to follow the stranger’s movements from across the bar. “I came here for a child. Maybe you’ve seen him? Gold hair. Gold eyes. Magical powers. Ring a bell?”

Charlie glances at Dean, eyes flicking to Jack for a moment. Dean nods once. He pushes the boy gently away from his chest. Dean nods at Charlie, who holds her arms out. The boy crawls over to her, crawling onto her lap. Jack turns his head, eyes watching as Dean shimmies underneath the table, feeling for the compartment he carved out himself. It opens easily and he grabs John’s old sawed off shotgun. Next to him, Benny only spreads his feet wider. 

“I reckon you got the wrong establishment, brother. Now why don’t ya get on outta here,” Benny suggests, stepping forward. 

Dean wiggles across the floor on his back, allowing himself to get a view of the bar above him. The stranger meanders around the bar, hands still raised. His green eyes catch the light, refracting it as if caught in a raindrop. Dean swallows and scoots farther out from underneath the table, leaving his chest exposed as he points his shot gun at the fae. 

“See,  _ brother,  _ that’s not what I heard,” the fae says. His boots clink with every step closer to the pool table. Dean’s heart shudders in his chest. “Two little boys met a fae child here yesterday, and I ain’t leavin here without him. Don’t matter to me if I gotta kill all of ya.”

“I’m only given ya one more chance to leave,” Benny growls, both hands on his revolver as he steps even closer. 

“Sad that’ll be yer last words,” the fae sneers as he lowers his gun, pointing it directly at Benny’s chest. 

Time stops. Dean inhales, nostrils flared as he steadies the butt of his gun on his shoulder. The angle is wrong and the gunshot will rip through his ear drum. But it’s Benny. And Jack. Dean exhales. His finger is on the trigger at the same time as the fae’s, but he’s going to pull faster. His bullet will land it’s mark, just soon enough to save Benny’s life. Dean inhales. Gunpowder and smoke and a spark fill the world. Dean exhales.

Time races forward to catch up. The stranger is pinned to the wall to Dean’s left, feet dangling off the floor. The fae scratches at his neck, mouth gaping as he struggles for air. The doors swing open and James is there, fist clenched in the air above him. He strides up to the stranger, replacing the invisible force on the fae’s throat with his own hand. He growls so softly, Dean almost misses it over the ringing in his ears. 

“Tell my  _ brother  _ that if he comes for my son again, I  _ will  _ rip out his heart.” James lifts the fae from the wall and throws him across the bar. The fae crashes into the opposite wall, scrambling for the door as James steps closer. Dean pants as he stares up at the man, arms quaking from the kick back of his shotgun. 

Benny leans against the billiard’s table, heaving a sigh as he runs a hand down his chest. Dean sets the gun by his side and rolls onto his stomach to crawl out from under the table. As the others stand and look around, James marches up to Dean. He grips Dean’s shoulder tight enough to bruise, eyes burning bright enough to overpower the candles. Dean sways into the fae’s grip, reaching up to wiggle his ear. 

Before James can unleash his thoughts upon Dean, a small body wedges between them. Both men look down, and James let’s go of Dean to pick Jack up. He cradles the boy to his chest, rubbing his back as the Jack hiccups into his shoulder.

Dean reaches out to stroke Jack’s hair, helping the boy relax more as the world rights itself. James glares at Dean, growling out. “We need to talk. Tonight. My house, after Jack’s in bed.”

Without another word, James storms out. Over his shoulder, Jack reaches out, hand grasping the air as he cries. “Dean! Wait. Papa, I wanna stay with Dean.” 

Even though his arms are limp by his side, his heart is reaching back. 

“Can I just be the first to say,  _ what the fuck? _ ” Charlie says from behind the bar. She pours everyone a drink, quickly downing her shot before pouring another one. Her hand shakes, spilling some of the contents onto the bar. 

Dean sits, slumped over the bar with his head in his hands. He grunts at the woman’s words, deciding to not answer in favor of basking in his own thoughts. Bobby sits next to him, watching his son panic silently. Benny walks about the bar, righting tables and chairs and collecting glasses that didn’t break in the commotion. 

Bobby leans closer. The concern in his eyes is familiar to Dean, a comfort as his own mind reels for solutions. “Should I explain? Or are you gonna?” 

Groaning, Dean lets his forehead fall to the bar, hiding his eyes from the stares of his family. Bobby huffs, sitting back and taking his shot. “Smart guy over here made a deal with the fae that’s been comin in here for bout a month.”

“The pretty one with the blue eyes that wins every game of poker he plays?” Charlie asks, resting her chin on her hand and swaying her hips. 

Dean nods, laughing humorlessly. “That’s the one.” 

“Why?” Benny asks. 

Bobby huffs again, rubbing his face. “Sam went ’n got himself hungry for magic. Up ’n disappeared with a fae. Dean made a deal to care for Jack, if this fae will help Dean get Sam back.” 

Charlie gasps, holding her hand before her face. “Sam’s… gone?”

Dean sits up, eyes puffy from the tears he’s holding back. “Yes. Cause a nothin but his own dumbass decisions. And now my own dumbass decisions got me into this mess. Fae showin up at my door, James mad at me. God knows if he’s ever gonna let me near the kid again. He’ll probably break off the deal. Shit.” Dean shakily grabs his glass and downs the shot. 

Charlie covers his hand with her own, offering an apologetic smile as she pours him another shot. “Are you more worried about the deal or the kid?” 

“Both? I gotta get Sam back. But I…” Dean swallows. “Ain’t worth getting Jack killed if that’s what it means when he’s with me.” 

Charlie shakes her head, squeezing his hand. “Dean, you both care about Jack. I doubt he’ll break off the deal. You’re not alone. And neither is he. We all love Jack. Right?” 

Benny nods, stepping closer and putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “She’s right, brother. We all love the kid. Garth won’t shut up about him. Jo wants to teach him to play darts. Ya finally gave Bobby ’n Ellen the grandkids they’ve been waiting for.” 

“Hey!” Bobby grunts, fixing his hat. “’M sitting right here ya know. But… these two aren’t lyin. The kid’s part of our family now, whether this James likes it or not. We’ll do whatever we can to protect him. So, why don’t ya just tell him that, and if he gives ya the boot… well, we cross that bridge when we get there.” 

Dean looks around at his friends, feeling his muscles settle. He sighs, closing his eyes and nodding. His mind already races, putting together an apology speech and a plan together to keep them all safe. “Yer right. We’ll cross it when we get there. Y’all head home. I gotta get Jack’s stuff ready.” 

Charlie cups Dean’s cheek, giving him one last smile before she leaves. Benny squeezes his shoulder again, nodding at both Dean and Bobby before following her out. Bobby sits, watching Dean for a moment. 

“If this fae yer infatuated with cares about this kid half as much as you do, he’ll figure out how good you are for him. How good you are for each other.” Bobby stands. He pats Dean’s back as he heads out. “Night, son.” 

Dean looks into the mirror behind the bar, wiping the gunpowder from his cheek. He swallows, trying to steal himself. He’s not entirely sure if he’s the one who dodged the bullet or the one who shot the gun. Either way, he knows what he has to do. 


	11. Friend of the Devil

Dean promised himself he’d grow up to be a quiet man. Not necessarily alone, but quiet and still. Rooted in place, but dancing with the wind like a pine tree. Dean wanted his own patch of dust, bought with his own silver bullets, sowed with his own hands, sustained by his own flesh and blood. The Devil’s Backbone was the start of that, but at thirty, he’s starting to wonder if he will ever achieve the peace he craved as a boy. 

The forest is too quiet as Baby trots along the path. Familiar with the song of the dirt, she follows it easily. Dean sits back in his saddle, looking for stars through the foliage. Each patch of sky, sparkling with stars like blue jewels, made him long for something  _ else  _ even more. He absently pets Baby’s mane, letting her take him to James’ cabin for what might be the last time. That silent pressure rings around his ribs, tightening with each step closer. He fidgets with his collar, then checks to make sure his saddle bags with Jack’s belongings are still in place.

Once in the clearing by James’ cabin, Dean dismounts and leads Baby to a willow tree by the pond. He ties her reins slowly, double checking the knot to avoid the pulse of a presence behind him. He undoes the straps holding up his saddle bags, letting the silence stretch on so thin that at any moment, it should snap. Stroking Baby’s flank, Dean just waits with his bait. 

“Dean,” James says, breaking the silence. 

Dean faces the porch, hands shoved into his pockets. James sits in the lone chair, rocking slowly as he watches Dean cross his yard. Squatting on the front steps, Dean puts the saddle bags at James’ feet. He turns his back to the fae, looking out into the shadows of the forest. “It’s the kid’s stuff.” 

James opens the bag, rifling through the papers and drawing supplies, the book he’d borrowed from Dean, and the blanket he’d come to love from Dean’s linen closet. Clearing his throat, James sets the bag against the house. “That’s very kind of you, Dean, but hardly necessary.”

Dean scoffs, glancing over his shoulder just to catch James’ appalled expression. “Not necessary? Yer not plannin on keepin the kid away from me, then? Ya sayin he’s still safe around me?” 

James grips the sides of his rocking chair, taking a slow breath to calm himself. “I have thought over our situation all afternoon.” 

“And?” Dean spits, shoulders hunched around his ears and fingers shaking. 

“Jack is unsafe,” James raises his hand before Dean can interrupt him. “With either one of us alone.”

“What?” Dean says, turning on the steps to face James.

“Individually, we can offer only a certain level of care and protection. You saw first hand what sort of danger he is in due to his abilities.” James starts a slow rock, not meeting Dean’s questioning gaze. 

“And? What? Ya wanna lock him away like a princess in a tower? How’s that any better?”

James looks up at the ceiling, sighing. “Dean Winchester, you are almost  _ impossible  _ when you are upset.” 

“I could say the same about you,” Dean growls, balling his hands into fists. “They came after Jack in  _ my bar.  _ My safe space. And before I can even check on him, you sweep him up and run out the door. This can’t work if ya aren’t willin to communicate.” 

“And you want this to work?” James asks, glancing at Dean without lifting his head from the back of the chair. 

Dean stands, slamming his fist into the post in front of him. He hisses from the pain in his knuckles, nursing it against his chest. “Of course, I do! Dammit.” 

James stands and goes over to Dean. He touches a fingertip to Dean’s knuckle before the man could pull away. A cool sensation ripples through his body and for a single moment, Dean’s lungs lose all their oxygen. He gasps, but flexes his hand, amazed at how the throbbing pain has disappeared. He huffs and shoves his hands back in his pockets. “Don’t change the fact m upset, James.” 

“You are upset because Jack’s life was in danger?” James asks, staring at Dean’s chest. 

Dean leans back against the fence bordering the porch, huffing. “Course I am. Even told the brat I loved him today. He’s a good kid.” 

“Are you willing to do what is best for him and for the continuation of our contract?” James asks, voice soft. 

Dean’s startled not by the words, but by the fact the fae refuses to look him in the eye. His fingers ache to reach out, to lift James’ chin, to face his own feelings head on, and resolve his issues for once. Dean swallows and shrugs. “I guess it depends on what ya had in mind. Now that… my family knows about you, Jack, and our deal, they’re on board. They all love Jack ’n wanna help where they can. We’re not alone.” 

“I’m afraid that won’t be enough,” James says, finally looking up from Dean’s heart to his eyes. “We need to make another deal.” 

“Another— Are you out of your mind? How in the world will another deal fix this?  _ Deals  _ are what got us, especially me, into this mess.” Dean shakes his head, massaging his forehead. 

“Will you hear me out? It’s for Jack, Dean. I have nothing to gain in this deal.” James’ gaze is unwavering, unblinking, and unsettling. Lips slightly parted, Dean can’t help but glance down and away. 

“Oh, and what about that whole speech about magic having a price? What’ll this one cost me?”

James blinks, shifting his weight between his feet and standing straighter. “Will you hear me out?”

Dean stares between James’ eyes, searching them for any indication that this is the fae trying to be needlessly cruel. All he sees is a tired father desperately clinging to hope that he can do something. Dean walks away, down the porch steps and towards where Baby is tied up. James follows him off the porch. 

“Dean, wait, please,” James says, voice cracking as he says the human’s name. Dean reaches into his personal bag, yanking out a worn leather bound book and shoves it into James’ chest. 

Dean pulls away when the fae holds the book in his own hands, putting his attention toward soothing Baby. She knickers and nudges his shoulder, sensing his distress. Dean points at the book in James’ hand as the pages fall open in the fae’s wide palms. “That is why I hate deals.” 

Eyes flicking over the pages, James reads out loud, “August. Dean still won’t speak to me. Only to Sammy to get him to eat or in his dreams. He calls for Mary. Screams at me. I don’t know where else to turn. Bobby’s lived out in Ouroboros for some time and some folks around here claim that you can trade your soul for a life. What these boys need is a mother. Not a man afraid of being a father.” 

Heat and salt and water fill Dean’s sinuses with pressure. He pinches his nose to keep from crying, voice thick. “We came to Ouroboros so my dad could deal his life away. When no fae would take it, he traded for a ‘better life.’ Got sucked into the magic, into the liquor. He wanted to live out there, with the fae, more than with his own kids. Soon, he was trading more than himself. Locks of Sam’s hair would go missing. My mother’s bible. My first blanket as a child. I forgot how to play the guitar for an entire summer, after playing for  _ years _ . He never wanted to admit it, but he was using us as pawns. As barter but also as an excuse. So, I told myself I’d never let Sam or I get dragged into magic again. But that kinda shit, it never leaves you. My family’s  _ cursed  _ and now my brother’s gone, just like my dad. And you want me to  _ hear you out?  _ To make another deal?” 

“You think I want to make another deal?” James asks, handing the book back to Dean. The human rolls his eyes, packing it away. 

“Fuck you, James. I’m leaving. Give the kid my best. I’ll find Sam on my own.” Dean grips the handle of his saddle, ready to swing over Baby’s back and settle into the seat. 

James grips his shoulder, forcing him to spin around. Baby flicks her tail, letting out a noise of warning that has James letting go of Dean immediately. James looks at Baby for a moment before staring Dean down. “You came to me because I don’t normally make deals. Did you ever wonder why that was?”

“Nothing good enough to sweeten the pot,” Dean grumbles, kicking the dirt. 

James sighs through his nose and shakes his head. “I don’t actually care for deals. The idea that power can be robbed from humanity is a disgusting and immoral practice. I never participated in them when I lived in the court. Counting ours, I’ve only made three.”

“You don’t live with a court anymore?” Dean asks. 

“Why do you think I live alone in the woods?” James says, gesturing to the clearing around them. “After ten years, isolated with Kelly and Jack, I realized I never wanted to go back. I found something  _ real _ , something more powerful than deals or magic. When you came to my front door looking to make a deal, I was more than ready to turn you away. But your  _ love  _ for your brother, it is the same power that possesses me when it comes to Jack. I agreed to our deal out of appreciation and respect. And I’m asking you to see this proposition as another sign of my respect.” 

Dean watches as the fae’s hand moves about his head. It’s the most emotive Dean’s seen the fae in the few weeks he’s known him. That aura of humanity is back. Desperation clings to every motion and every word. Their boundaries are the same, drawn by the intensity of their own love. Dean rubs his neck, scratching lightly as he kicks his heel into the ground more. “Fine. I’ll hear you out. I’ll still be able to see the kid?”

James nods, biting his lip for a moment. “You would actually be with him every day.” 

Dean raises an eyebrow, rocking back on his feet. “Wish ya told me that before I packed up all his stuff. But that works for me.” 

James shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “If you are amicable, I want you to move in here with me and Jack until…” 

When James trails off, Dean steps forward. He punches James in the chest, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to spur something harsher in the fae. James shoves him back and Dean points his finger at James. “Quit the bullshit with me. You want me to hear you out? Actually say something.”

“Until I have eliminated the threat on Jack’s life, if you continue to be a part of it, I need to protect you both. I can fully dedicate myself to solving this problem and saving your brother if you are here with me every day, caring for Jack while I work. You could still leave as you please, but you would live here.” 

“And how’s that a deal? How’s that gonna keep other fae from storming into my bar and shooting up the place?” Dean argues. 

“If you’d let me finish,” James says, sighing. “That is a consequence of the deal. The actual deal is a memory for my true name.”

“Y—You’re true name?” Dean stutters, reaching out for Baby’s saddle to keep himself upright. 

“Correct. See, Dean, I have come to think of you as a friend and someone I can trust. Jack adores you, and I find it hard not to myself.” James’ smile as he talks is just as disarming as the fact the fae wants to give Dean the ultimate power of him. “With the power attributed to my true name, you can take legal guardianship of Jack. Fae are rule bound and cannot fight a system that exists in both their own and the human realm. We would, essentially, be married by fae standards. No fae could simply take Jack away from us. I would be able to protect you both, and Jack doesn’t have to lose you.” 

Dean holds onto Baby’s side, still staring at James as if his glamours have faded away to expose the seething magic underneath. Dean swallows, rubbing a palm over his shirt. “Yer asking me to move in, marry you, and be the dad to yer kid?” 

James chuckles softly, tilting his head. “I suppose, when you put it that way, I am. It is up to you, Dean. I cannot force you to accept my proposition. I can only provide it as a solution.” 

Dean knows there should be a moment of hesitation. After what Dean’s lived through, what he’s promised himself and his family, what he swore over his father’s grave, he should walk away. Cut his losses, drink away the thought of James and Jack out here in the woods of Ouroboros, and find Sam on his own. Except there is no hesitation. When given every opportunity, Dean’s body goes into flight or fight. His stomach rolls, his palms sweat, his heart races, his lungs catch. He can never shake the urge to hide. Standing in front of James now, with the promise of a home, Dean feels nothing but calm. 

“What memory?” Dean asks, voice so soft it’s almost unheard. The crickets and frogs and cicadas quiet just enough for him to repeat, “What memory would you take in exchange for your true name?”

“One filled with the same trepidation and excitement and vulnerability,” James says, rubbing his neck. “The memory of your first kiss would be sufficient. If you do not mind parting with it.” 

Dean almost laughs in relief. His memory of his first kiss is exactly as James described: shaky with anxiety and excitement and vulnerability. He’s staring a girl down, a girl whose name he cannot remember because he was twelve and told to do it because they were “boyfriend and girlfriend.” She presses her lips to his, quick and too harsh. Their teeth clash through the flesh of their lips. Yet it sends his heart almost leaping from his chest. He giggled with the girl as they kissed again, this time softer. 

“I can,” Dean says. He steps forward, holding out his palm for James to cut. 

The same blade the fae used before appears out of his shirt sleeve, glinting in the moonlight as it moves. James cradles Dean’s hand in his own, thumb pressing gently into the meat of his palm as he creates a small cut. The pull of James’ magic tugs on Dean again, beckons both his soul and his breath out of his body. James slices his own palm. Dean expects another handshake, a quick moment accompanied by a flash. 

Instead, James holds Dean’s hand between both of his own. The moment their bloodied palms meet, the flash sears through Dean once again. He leans into it, bathing himself in the purity of unfiltered magic. He sighs, eyes closed as the feeling retreats. James still holds onto his hands, stroking over the spot where the cut used to be. 

“Dean?” 

Dean opens his eyes and laughs softly. “Ya know. Not having the memory of my first kiss is… odd. Now my second kiss  _ is  _ my memory of my first kiss. But something’s missin. That… nakedness. The innocence. It’s missin from every kiss I’ve ever had.” 

“And you find that amusing?” James asks, tilting his head. 

“I find it excitin. Means I get a second chance to recreate that feeling.” Dean grins. He turns his hand in James’ hold, lacing their fingers together. The fae stares at their hands, lips quirking into a smile. “So, am I supposed to know your true name in the back of my mind or something, cause I got nothin up here.” 

The fae Dean’s known as James steps forward, still clutching their hands to his chest. He leans close to Dean’s ear and whispers, “My name is Castiel.” 

Knowing a fae’s true name means he can ask for anything without offering anything in return. He can take all the power he needs, create a new life for himself without magic stealing away everything he is in the night. The knowledge doesn’t tempt him, though, because he already has everything he wants. A family, his bar, a way to save his brother, and someone who cares and respects him enough to eventually—maybe—love him. 

Dean closes his eyes, pulling the fae into a loose embrace. The fae freezes under the intimate touch. Dean reaches around him and grabs the fae’s arms, wrapping them around Dean’s waist in invitation. He says the name a few times in his mind, replacing  _ James  _ with  _ Castiel.  _ Castiel tightens his hold on Dean’s waist, cheek pressed to the corner of Dean’s shoulder. 

“I think I like James better,” Dean teases. 

Castiel shoves away from Dean’s chest, rolling his eyes. “And I think our marriage may have been a bad idea. You’re a terrible influence on Jack and myself.” 

Dean chuckles and leans closer, “Castiel.” 

The fae’s eyelids flutter, unused to the effect of his own true name. “Dean…” 

Castiel clears his throat and steps back. He shifts again on his feet, that same insecurity creeping back into his body language. Dean watches him, wondering if the fae regrets sharing such intimate information with a human he’s only known for a little over a month. When Castiel starts to roll up his sleeves, a red flush colors his cheeks enough Dean can spot it in the moonlight. His fingers twitch beside him, wanting to reach out and feel the heat underneath his palm.

As the fabric of Castiel’s shirt is rolled up towards his elbow, gold metal is exposed. Two identical gauntlets adorn Castiel’s forearms. The color is soft, yet radiates a heat that buzzes with magic. A vine pattern crawls across the surface of the metal, breaking out into petals in the shape of fae writing. Castiel flips his arm, undoing the latch on the gauntlet on his left arm.

“When fae become of age, they are given gauntlets as symbols of their adulthood. They represent our Courts—gold for the sun, silver for the moon—and our status,” Cas worries his lip as he frees his forearm from the gold. He cradles it carefully in his hands, thumbs tracing over the engravings. “When I left, I couldn’t part with them. So I simply hid them.”

Castiel looks away from the gauntlet in his hand to meet Dean’s eyes. “I understand that it is customary, within human marital traditions, to exchange physical symbols of their relationship.” Cas takes Dean’s wrist in his hand, placing the warm metal around Dean’s left forearm. As he clasps it shut, Dean feels his breath catch. “I belong to you, Dean Winchester. And everyone will know it when you wear this. Please accept this as a… gift. Of my gratitude.”

Dean traces over the gauntlet with his free hand, testing the weight as his lifts and lowers his arms. He blushes himself, smiling softly in the dark. Baby noses his forearm, huffing as her tail twitches. Dean’s body can sense the magic embedded in the object too, but surprisingly doesn’t suffocate him. When Dean moves his hand to pet Baby’s forehead, he spots how Castiel’s eyes follow the glint of metal. It warms something in Dean’s gut. This is a reminder not of their deal, but of something  _ more.  _ Dean licks his lips and whispers, “You know, another tradition of human marriages is to kiss your new spouse.”

Castiel tilts his head, eyes dropping to Dean’s lips as he licks his own. “And? You want that?” Castiel asks, voice a soft breeze hidden in the night. Dean touches Castiel’s chin, pulling gently on his bottom lip to part the fae’s lips.

When the fae’s body leans into the touch, eyes sparking into a soft glow, Dean smirks. “And, I think you should replace the memory you took from me.”

As a child, Dean loved sunbathing after long swims on summer days. As each water droplet evaporated, his skin felt restored, whole,  _ tight.  _ As if his body could not contain everything he is. As if his existence is as bright and warm as the sun, just barely boundaried. When Castiel grips his wrist, thumb digging into the soft spot outside the gauntlet, and pulls him down into a kiss, Dean feels the same tightness settle over his body. 

It’s a quick kiss, not unlike Dean’s first kiss. The small moment of pressure, the brush of Castiel’s chapped lips against his own, the tickle of his stubble—it spirals Dean into the stars. All he can feel is  _ blue.  _ Soft like an afternoon drizzle that smells like the earth’s loving sigh. The fae pulls away too soon, touching his own bottom lip as if it tingles the same way Dean’s does.

Castiel looks over Dean’s soft smile and responds with his own. While straightening his shirt, he says, “You should head home. Get some rest so you can pack some of your belongings and bring them here tomorrow.”

Nodding, Dean steps into Castiel’s space once again. He kisses the fae’s forehead, taking the moment to inhale the cedar and rainwater scent of Castiel’s hair. “Goodnight, Castiel.”

Cas’s grin is wide, unfiltered. The same grin that won over Dean’s heart the first night Castiel showed up at the Devil’s Backbone. The same feeling occurs, but this time it’s accompanied by comfort, knowing he’ll be back in the morning. That—for now at least—everything had been solved between them.

“Goodnight, Dean.” As Dean heads off into the night, Castiel’s voice carries him off.

  
  
  
  



	12. All Our Own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a poker game in this chapter so here's some background if you are unfamiliar with the lingo I use!
> 
> Poker Game Notes:  
> Structure of the game:   
> 1) Every player gets two cards.   
> 2) Pre-flop: Each player can call (which is when the player puts in the base bet. Here’s it’s one dollar), fold, or make bets based on their cards alone   
> 3) Flop: when the dealer lays out the five cards  
> Terms:   
> Check: when no player makes any bets (after the initial call). If a player makes a bet, all other players must either call or fold.   
> River: The flop starts with only 3 cards, and ends with 5. The last 2 cards are the “river”   
> Muck: when the character’s fold and toss their cards back to the dealer, it’s called the muck   
> Suited: when the cards have the same suit.

Dean’s favorite time to be in the Devil’s Backbone is just before dusk. Summer sun crawls across the floor. The men wave their Stetson’s in front of their sweaty beards. The heat just barely breaks, leaving everyone basking in the warmth of air and drink. Beyond the prancing tunes Garth plays on the piano, the sounds of childish laughter and mother’s calls ring through the streets clear as church bells.

Dean stands by one window, eyes closed as he lets sunlight wash out his eyelids. Orange fills his vision with the sight of his own capillaries. He is  _ here. Alive. Warm.  _ The weight of Castiel’s gauntlet sends a buzz through his bones whenever he shifts on his feet. Eyes still closed, he touches it briefly with a sigh. It’s real. Their deal is real. That kiss was real.

Someone shuffles up next to him and Dean cracks open an eye to find Bobby by his side. The older man looks over the metal brandishing Dean’s arm. A blush creeps up from under Dean’s collar that he knows isn’t from the heat.

“Sam told me some of the stuff he read in his books about the fae folk,” Bobby offers.

Dean swallows. An urge to touch the gauntlet again strikes through his fingers. He clenches his hand in a fist to keep from hiding his arm from Bobby’s lingering gaze. “That so?”

Bobby nods, crossing his arms. “Gauntlets are somethin’ special. Symbols of court n status n whatnot.”

Bobby doesn’t so much as glance at Dean now. Still, Dean’s hands twitch and his chest constricts like the man is glaring at him. Dean stares at Bobby, hoping for an out. He considers, for a moment, hiding what happened. Roll down his sleeves, undo what he and Castiel had done the night before. Just to escape the weight of what Bobby left  _ unsaid.  _ His heart lurches into his throat at the thought, so he shakes off the idea to mumble, “That’s… uh. James said as much.”

Finally, after a moment of silence, Bobby makes eye contact with him. “Yer happy?”

“What kinda question is that, Bobby?”

“Ya started this deal to help yer brother. He ain’t back, yet yer standing here wearin’ a fae’s gauntlet and co-parenting his kid. I aint tryin’ to pass judgement, but I sure as hell am hopin’ yer not getting into any kind of trouble ya can’t get out of.”

Bobby looks over Dean’s face, eyebrows furrowed over his eyes. At the mention of Sam, Dean feels guilt swoop through his stomach. He bites his cheek as he thinks over what Bobby’s really asking him. If he’s  _ sold  _ himself out to a  _ fae  _ for his brother. He blinks a few times, gripping Bobby’s shoulder as laughter begins to bloom from his chest. Bobby does glare at him then, pushing off his hand. “What are you laughin at, boy?”

Dean shakes his head, glancing from Bobby to the gauntlet. “I have probably gotten myself into trouble. But it ain’t nothin I can’t handle.”

Dean offers Bobby a grin. It’s one the older man recognizes and it doesn’t provide him with any comfort. It looks exactly like the grin Dean gave him when he came home with an egg he snatched from a rattle snake’s nest, determined to go back and get enough for breakfast. Before Bobby could frown, before he could even question Dean’s choices, the younger man speaks.

“Would ya believe me if I told ya I was technically married?” Dean chuckles, letting himself trace over the pressed images along the warm metal of the gauntlet.

The words Bobby had prepared trickle from his mind as his eyes widen. At that moment, Ellen slams into Dean, gripping his arm to inspect the gold inlay.

“Ya mean to tell me yer settlin down with the fae and the boy?” Ellen asks, eyes sharp as she looks up.

Bobby gapes between his wife and his son, lifting his hat to run a hand through his hair. Dean nods, smile softening. “I moved in this morning so we can keep a better eye on Jack. And we uh… mighta exchanged words. He kissed me. That’s what ya do when ya get hitched, ain’t it?”

As Dean speaks, Ellen and Bobby spot it. The man they view like a son, the man who seemed to curdle at the slightest sign of rejection, was happy as a desert in rain.

Ellen lets go of the gauntlet to cup Dean’s face. She smiles softly, stroking his cheeks with her calloused thumbs. “Oh honey… Yes. That’s exactly what ya do.”

Dean blushes under her hands, glancing away and clearing his throat. “Alright. Well. Now that we’ve got that squared away, who wants something to drink?”

He pulls away from Ellen’s touch, but offers her a shy smile. He wipes his mouth as he pushes past to get to the bar. As he passes, Bobby pats his shoulder. “Long as yer happy.”

“I am,” is all Dean offers now. And it’s enough. Dean’s shoulders relax, his jaw unclenches as he stands behind his bar to put distance between himself and the conversation. Being happy is  _ dangerous  _ in Ouroboros.

He shakes his head as he pours out some whiskey. He pushes the glasses towards his folks with his knuckles. Bobby raises his glass, mumbling, “To new family” before slamming it back. Ellen winks at Dean, who groans, but accepts the blessing for what it is.

“Thanks,” he mumbles just as the air shifts.

Castiel’s entrance into the bar reminds Dean of the perfect moment at night where the world is so quiet that the frogs and crickets and cicadas harmonize. The whole world vibrates with the sound, filled to the brim with joy. Dean’s eyes track over the fae’s form. The dark shirt and blue vest hug the man’s shoulders and hips tightly. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, revealing the matching gauntlet to the eyes of the bar for the first time since Castiel’s first visit.

As soon as their eyes meet across the dining room, Cas’s eyes spark. Not enough to smoke, but enough to acknowledge the power Dean holds on his tongue. Dean swallows, almost forgetting where they are until Jack bounds past the fae to run up to the bar. He scrambles up onto a stool, beaming at Dean. Dirt smudges his cheek, making Dean chuckle even as he tries to catch his breath. He licks his thumb and wipes the boys face, who scowls in return even as he excitedly starts to ramble. “Papa let me go out to the pond and catch fireflies!”

In his periphery, Dean can see the knowing look Ellen shares with Bobby. It warms him for a moment, reassures him that he  _ can  _ love this kid, that he can have a family. Dean grins at jack. “That right? Did ya catch any?”

Jack nods quickly as Castiel sits himself at the bar. Dean can feel the fae’s gaze as he pours out another drink.

“That why yer so dirty?” Dean asks, glancing at Castiel teasingly while handing him the shot glass.

“He refused to wash up before you arrived home. I thought it’d be a good idea to bring him here, let him get tired out,” Castiel says over the rim of his glass.

“I don’t get tired!” Jack chirps, causing all the adults to pause before chuckling. The boy looks around them, frowning. “I don’t!”

Ellen ruffles Jack’s hair as she brings him in for a hug. “We all need our sleep, sweetheart.”

Jack looks up at her with a pout, but accepts her embrace. He wraps his arms around her neck, leaning closer. “Are you playing poker tonight? I wanna watch.”

Ellen chuckles even as Castiel raises an eyebrow at Dean. Dean shrugs, smirking. “This is a bar. And poker ain’t bad if there ain’t money involved.”

Castiel rolls his eyes while Ellen grins broadly at Dean. “Then what do ya say, boy? Wanna see if you can best the master?”

She leans closer to Jack, whispering loudly so they can all hear. “I taught him everything he knows, but not everything I know. That’s how ya keep ahead in life, Jack.”

Jack giggles with her before focusing his attention on Dean. His gold eyes soften, only brighter when compared to his mud-speckled cheeks. “Please? I want to watch you play!”

Dean leans on his elbows, smirking as he tilts his hat up. “Tell ya what, kiddo. I will play. But only if yer daddy does too. Been watching him play for a month. I reckon I got what it takes to send both him and Ellen packin.”

“Oh? And I’m not a challenge? I take more from yer pockets than I give if my memory’s working,” Bobby grumbles, looking over at his wife and son.

Dean snorts. “That may be true, but it’s been a while. N I got a lot to prove.” Dean winks at Jack. The boy grins back before turning to Castiel. The fae stares, unblinking, at Dean for a few moments, lips pursed into a thin line. Dean raises an eyebrow, still wearing his lazy smirk.

Jack shakes Castiel’s arm. “Will you play, Papa? Please?”

Cas finally blinks and turns his attention to Jack, who practically vibrates in his seat. “One quick game. But then we’re heading home for bed, young man.”

Jack throws his hands up, shouting, “Yes!” He snatches Castiel’s hand and starts dragging him from his seat to an empty table. He impatiently calls out to the adults, “C’mon!”

Dean watches for a moment, chest light. As he walks around the table to be seated, he squeezes Castiel’s shoulder. He leans down, mouth next to Castiel’s ear, whispering so softly he can barely hear it. “Yer ass is mine, Castiel.”

Dean feels the fae shiver under his grip. He smirks, squeezing harder this time before he sits down next to him. He watches Ellen start shuffling the deck before he glances up at the fae. His breath catches as he spots shimmering tendrils of blue curling around Castiel’s eyebrows from under the shadow of his hat.

Ellen starts passing out cards and chips as she whispers about the rules to Jack, who sits in her lap. The fae grins at Dean, eyes dragging over the man’s chest to the gauntlet that shines in the candlelight.

“Oh, how wrong you are, Winchester.”

Garth’s playing swells in Dean’s ears, Bobby’s humming pushing through his thoughts as his body freezes in time. Dean’s lungs fill with rosemary and lemon and sandalwood. The scents used to cloy in his mouth, almost choking him like his childhood nightmares. It clung to John when he wandered home from the fae bar just outside Ouroboros, when he’d drown his memories of his wife in whiskey. Now, Dean inhales deeply, eyes closing for a moment as he smiles. Now, all he smells is  _ Castiel  _ and the wood smoke from the kitchen and the oil in the lanterns and the crisp summer breeze. Jack’s giggling in Ellen’s lap, Bobby’s glaring at his cards, and Castiel’s boot pressing into his calf. His mind doesn’t zoom in on Castiel, forgetting everything around him. It’s impossible because Jack and Cas are  _ part  _ of this now: the bar, his small family, his life. All that’s missing is Sam.

The thought makes Dean swallow back something stronger than any drink. His eyes heat up and he tilts his head down, hiding his face under the shadow of his hat as he collects himself. Huffing out a breath, he squints at his cards.

“Everyone’s got two cards, see?” Ellen whispers to Jack, who nods. “They’re all gonna take a look at em n decide if they’re worth playin. It’s a risk because they dunno what’s gonna happen in the flop. If they don’t like their chances, they’ll toss em into the muck.”

Ellen glances to Bobby, who tosses his chip into the center of the table. “Imma call.”

Dean’s got 10 and 9, suited. Nothing strong, but close enough to a straight or a flush he doesn’t want to toss them to the muck. He pushes forward his dollar chip. “Call.”

Jack looks expectantly at Castiel, eyes wide as the fae taps the edges of his cards on the table top. Those blue eyes track over Dean’s face and Dean does his best not to squirm so early in the game. He winks instead, causing the fae to chuckle softly before tossing his cards. “Fold.”

Jack pouts, crossing his arms. “Yer supposed to play, Papa.”

Cas tips his hat’s brim up a little, grinning widely at his son. “Poker is a game of patience as well as strategy, Jack. You have to wait for the right cards.”

Bobby huffs and Dean turns to glare at the older man until he spots the small smirk his father wears. Dean relaxes against the back of his seat, crossing his legs under the table as he settles into the game. Bobby tosses a couple more chips onto the table “Bobby raises to 5 dollars. Quite the bet for a man with no cash.”

Bobby rolls his eyes, pointing a finger at his wife. “We ain’t playin for money. This is anybody’s game, sugar.”

Ellen chuckles and shakes her head, glancing at Dean. “Let’s see if Dean’s gonna match him.” 

Gold eyes land on him and Dean chews his lip for a moment. He raises an eyebrow as if he’s contemplating. He knows he should fold. Even if they don’t play for money, Bobby is a no-nonsense poker player. He calculates his risks, rarely bluffing unless his cards could still give him some luck. He huffs and tosses them to the muck. “Fold.”

With a hearty grunt, Bobby pulls the few chips in the pot towards his side of the table. Jack leans forward, whispering. “What were your cards?”

The older man grins, letting the boy peek. Dean’s chest warms as if he’s settled into a bath. He remembers these types of games, Ellen, Bobby, and John settled around the table as they all conspired with him about who will win. Jack laughs and Dean smirks, assuming the old man had a strong hand.

Dean spots Castiel shifting in his periphery and bumps their shoulders together. “Ya sure ya got what it takes against my folks?”

The fae’s thoughtful hum vibrates in Dean’s own chest. “I think I can handle a few cocky humans, Dean.”

“Why don’t you pass em out, honey,” Ellen says, handing Jack the reshuffled cards. The young boy gives each person their two cards, eyes following each set of hands as they lift the corners to check.

“N I think yer gonna eat those words,” Dean grumbles, settling back completely into his seat. Dean’s only got a 5 of spades and a Jack of diamonds, but it’s enough for now. He’ll ride out the pre-flop and see what fate gives him.

Bobby takes one look at his cards, face unmoving, before he tosses them to the muck. Dean eyes Castiel, wearing his still playful smirk. The fae raises an eyebrow as Dean slides his chip forward to call. Castiel doesn’t glance at his cards again, only tilts his head as he pushes forward his chip with a singular finger. It’s a slow drag across the table top and Dean cannot stop staring at the fae’s hands—at the way the veins shift across the fine bones under tanned skin. Dean licks his bottom lip before looking away. He knocks the table. Check. When Castiel does the same Jack turns to Ellen, who’s only smirking at the boys before her.

“What now?” Jack asks.

Ellen pulls the top three cards from the deck, laying them out. “They compare their hands to these cards, n make bets based on who they thinks got the better set.”

Jack nods, sitting up a little on his elbows to inspect the cards before them. 10 of hearts, 5 of hearts, and 8 of diamonds. Dean’s heart skips a beat, and only the corner of his lips twitch. Making sure his breath is even, he pushes forward a stack of chips. “I’m bettin 5 bucks.”

Everyone’s attention turns to Castiel, whose cards hide his lower face. He glares out over their edges, inspecting Dean’s eyes before focusing again on the table. Dean wonders if fae can sense heartbeats, because his own explodes in his veins. Castiel pushes forward the chips, and more. A curse bubbles in his throat but he swallows back down.

“I raise to 10,” Castiel says, voice even in its crackle. He winks at Jack, who beams back at his father.

For a moment, their eyes meet. Dean grins broadly at the fae, playing with his chips so they click over and over. Dean rests the tip of his tongue between his teeth and nods at Ellen. He pushes another 5 into the center of the table. “I call.”

Jack claps, shifting out of his Ellen’s lap so that his chest is pressed to the edge of the table. Ellen reaches around him and lays out the next card. 5 of diamonds. Normally, Dean keeps his wins to himself until after the hand. With Castiel’s eyes on him however, watching every tick of his expressions, Dean can’t help but put on a show. He sits back, head tipped back so that he can see the ceiling as he laughs softly. Castiel looks him over, head tilting again as if Dean’s behavior is a curiosity.

Dean hums along with Garth’s playing, hips shifting in his seat in an aborted type of dance as he gathers his chips. “I bet 20 dollars.”

The rest of the table falls silent, Bobby’s glass halfway to his lips when he glances over at Dean. Jack laughs, smacking his palms on the table. “He’s gonna win, Papa. You better fold.”

Ellen glances at the fae, whose dark eyes are focused solely on the smirk Dean wears. She shakes her head, smiling to herself as she watches the rest of the play unfold.

Dean always suspected that fae hands were soft with disuse. They didn’t have to til the earth, breathe life into her so she grew. They didn’t have to break stallions and shape leather. They didn’t spend hours riding in the sun to herd cattle across the plains. Yet, as Castiel fiddles with his chips, Dean can see the callouses on the fae’s palm. There’s one underneath the fingernail of his ring finger, probably from writing. The soft pads right where his fingers meet his palms are slightly yellowed and raised against warm pink. The skin between his forefinger and thumb looks dry, cracked from holding reins.

As Castiel pushes the chips to the center of the table to call Dean’s bet, the gauntlet shimmers in the lantern light. The air is so thick and warm, the metal seems to melt under the yellow beams. The pictures shift, dancing with Castiel’s movements. Dean gasps, blinking away the image as he checks his own gauntlet. He frowns for a moment, pressing a palm to his chest to make sure he can breathe. No magic. Just his imagination. Just his  _ infatuation  _ with his  _ husband.  _ The thought turns his tongue into a desert. He swallows thickly, rubbing his bottom lip to hide how affected he is by Castiel’s presence next to him.

“Well. Guess it’s down to the river then,” Dean says, voice pitched low.

Castiel knocks his knuckles against the tabletop, tongue swiping over his sharp canines. “Guess it is.”

Ellen slaps the new card onto the table and Dean lets out a sigh of relief. A 2 of hearts. He flips his cards over to show his 5 of spades, grinning as he says, “Three of a kind, sweetheart.”

Castiel’s head falls back, hand reaching out to keep his hat in place. He huffs heavily through his nose, tossing his cards towards the table. A 10 of spades and a 6 of hearts. Dean pouts, “Aw just a two pair? Thought you’d be smarter than that, James.”

Castiel turns his head just enough to send a sideways glare towards Dean. For a moment, Dean fears he’s gone too far. He’s waving his hand over an open fire and hoping he doesn’t get burned. The fae’s lips quirk up as he rights himself in his seat. A warm palm slides over Dean’s thigh, squeezing for a moment before disappearing. Just that singular touch brands Dean’s skin, sending a tingle through his fingertips. Castiel’s voice is soft. “You had me this hand, Dean.”

To hear the fae admit Dean had bested him sends another type of thrill through Dean’s chest. He grins, pushing his sleeves further up and scooting his chair closer to the table. Castiel remains slumped in his own seat and whenever Dean spares a glance towards him, his eyes shimmer in the shadow of his hat. Dean chews his cheek, palms starting to sweat with anticipation.

Ellen grins as she looks around the table. “Alright then. Game’s officially begun. Jack, honey, why don’t ya deal so I can show these boys how it’s really done.”

Jack slips out of Ellen’s lap, standing tall between her and Bobby. He watches Ellen shuffle the cards, amazed by the quick way they slap together in her skilled hands. As he takes the deck in his hands, a grin that rivals his father’s dons his face. The cards are passed out and Dean lets himself get washed away in the game.

As the sun fully settles into the earth’s chest for the night, they play. With each hand things grow more silent, more tense, between the adults around the table. Charlie stands behind Dean’s chair, leaning on his shoulder as she glares at Bobby, Ellen, and Castiel in turn. She’s firmly on his side, cackling every time Dean’s pile grows.

At this point, Bobby is folding yet another set of cards, fiercely holding onto what chips he has left for the sake of his dignity. Ellen’s smirks at his soft rumbles of discontent, fiddling with the last stack she holds in her possession. Not enough to make risky bets, but enough to push her weight around each hand. Castiel, however, has almost as high a stack as Dean. 40 to Dean’s solid 55. It’s a large enough sum Dean’s awfully glad he’s not playing with cash. And not even close to being a big enough difference to feel like he’s thoroughly won against the fae’s poker charms.

Charlie waves her hand at Jack, eyes bright as her hair as she urges, “Well, go on. Deal. I wanna see the last play before we close for the night.”

Dean tilts his head back to glance up at her, smirking. “Who’d ya bet on winnin?”

Charlie squeezes his shoulders, massaging them roughly as she watches the cards slither across the tabletop. She does not bother meeting his eyes, squinting at Ellen’s reaction instead. “You, of course.”

Bobby splutters for a moment, pinning her with a glare as he situates his hat on his head. “Y’all started a pool on our game?”

Jo slides past, placing another round of shots onto the table and winks at him. “Oh you betcha, Bobby. Benny n I put our money on the fae.”

Ellen slaps the table with her palm, mouth gaping at her daughter. “Joanna Harvelle, you bet against yer own  _ blood _ .”

Shrugging, Jo tucks her tray under her arm. “Sorry, mama, but he’s clearly got ya beat. Dean’s just gotten lucky.”

Throughout the whole game, the fae sat with the front legs of his chair tilted off the floor. He rocks precariously, always smirking as he drags his eyes over his opponents like he is tilling the earth. With his shoulders relaxed, cards hiding his laughter from the group.

“You may have too much faith in me, Jo. Dean has been more than lucky,” Castiel says.

Jo waves her hand at the fae, shushing him. “Don’t be fooled by his cockiness. The boy’s got more tells than you do fingers n toes.”

Castiel’s eyes jump from Jo to Dean, smirk widening. “Oh? I must not be paying close enough attention.”

The whole damn game Dean fought against Castiel’s draw. Castiel’s presence circled him like a tornado. With each glance, each shot of whiskey, each play, Dean found himself slipping a little bit more. Castiel’s hand grips his thigh under the table, thumb pressed right to the seam of Dean’s trousers. Dean spins his shot glass, knuckles white from how he grips his cards. He huffs at Castiel’s words, avoiding his stare. But they both know Dean’s gone. The gauntlet almost buzzes on Dean’s forearm, creating a tingle down his spine. All Dean can see is sparks of blue, little flashing reminders of  _ who  _ and  _ what  _ sits next to him. Shifting in his seat does nothing to alleviate Castiel’s grip. It only tightens, fingertips hot even through the fabric.

Ellen tosses her chip forward, raising an eyebrow at her husband. “Yer a chicken shit, ya know that.”

Bobby rolls his eyes, gulping down his last swig of whiskey. “I ain’t, yer just sour cus yer loosin n takin it out on me,” he mumbles, words melting together from the liquor.

Dean hums in a sort of shaky laugh, glancing at his cards again. Charlie’s chin tucks itself onto his shoulder and when she moves close, Castiel pulls his hand away. The sudden disappearance of the heat distracts Dean more than the actual touch.

“Call,” Dean mumbles, pushing the chip forward.

He doesn’t have to look up to know Castiel will do the same. The air around the fae has changed. It pulses with its own gravity, as if Castiel is the sun and everything reaches for his warmth. The fae’s going to win the hand and he knows it with every part of himself. And what’s more, he knows Dean will fall into the pot after him. Dean coughs into his elbow, trying to clear his throat now that his mouth is dry. He  _ knows  _ better, just like he knows to never look a wild dog in the eye. But he does it anyway.  _ Winchester Gumption  _ is what makes him take a chance on a couple of ducks: 2 of hearts and 2 of spades.

“I raise to 10,” Castiel says, voice even. Jo whistles, hands on her hips.

Ellen plays with the ends of her hair, nodding as she tosses another chip forward. “Call.”

Jack grins widely at her, rubbing his hands together as he turns his attention to Dean. Dean nods at the boy, pushing forward a second chip. The boy laughs, so full of mirth it almost swallows up whatever mystery is oozing from Castiel. Jack flips the first three cards.

They all hold their breath as the last card flicks in the boy’s hands. King of hearts, 6 of clubs, King of clubs. Charlie exhales through her nose, tickling the back of his neck and he rolls his eyes at her dramatics. No one makes a noise as Ellen teases the edges of her cards. She knocks the table, eyes flicking to Dean who winks at her.

“I bet 20,” Dean says, letting his drawl overtake the vowels. He runs his tongue over his teeth as he pushes the chips into the pot. Charlie’s grips on his shoulders could strangle a smaller man.

The chair legs smack into the floor as Castiel leans forward, suddenly intrigued by Dean’s play. The fae lifts his black Stetson to run a hand through his sweaty hair. Dean’s fingers twitch.

“Call.” Castiel pushes the chips forward, eyes looking over the pot with disinterest. Dean holds back a scowl at the fae’s poker face.

Ellen guffaws, shaking her head as she throws her cards to the muck. “I wasn’t born yesterday. Y’all can have yer little fight alone.”

Huffing in distracted amusement, Dean focuses instead on the new card Jack places on the table. The boy’s hands shake with excitement and Dean can already tell that he’ll fall right asleep on the horse ride home. The same cannot be said about him as he rakes his teeth over his bottom lip. 3 of spades.

Sweat trickles down Dean’s temple. He wipes it away on his shoulder before waving his hat before his face. He’s in too deep at this point, drowning in the heat and the investment he’s put into the pot. He folds now and he’s lost. He knocks the table, staring absently at the crack in the grain beside the cards.

Chips click beside him, echoing in the chambers of his mind. Any further gone, he’d curse, but he bites the tip of his tongue. The pot grows as Castiel uses his forefinger to shove another stack of chips towards it. “All in.”

The words soothe over the blister in the air. Castiel openly grins at the table. Bobby chuckles to himself, cheeks rosy under his beard. Ellen crosses her arms, but still smiles. Charlie falls away from Dean’s chair, rubbing her face as Jo slams into her, giggling happily. Dean just stares at the cards in Castiel’s hands.

The game is over. They all know it. Castiel wouldn’t bluff on an amount that high, not when Dean’s shoved him around with bets from the beginning. Everyone’s ready to pack it in, to admit Dean’s lost. Dean’s made of stronger grit than that, stubborn as sand in your teeth.

The sound of Dean’s chips tumbling across the table cuts through the last dredges of conversation.

“Oh for the love of—” Ellen starts, shaking her head as she pushes away from the table. Bobby Stands with her, chuckling again to himself. Ellen starts pulling on her jacket with Bobby’s help. “Dean Winchester, I thought we raised you better.”

Dean grins, tip of his tongue between his teeth. Charlie smacks the back of Dean’s head as Jo laughs harder.

Slapping the table before pointing at Jack, Dean grins. “Show me the river, kid.”

Jack snatches the top card from the deck so quickly, the deck falls apart. Cards slide across the table as Jack slams the last card down. Dean doesn’t bother looking at the river. He sits back, crossing his arms over his chest. Castiel’s eyes are on him, a soft glow emanating from them. When Dean rubs his bottom lip with his thumb, Castiel follows the motion.

Without looking at the cards, Castiel turns his hand over.

Jo punches Castiel’s shoulder, grinning. “That’s what I’m talking about, full house. Eat that, Winchester.” 

Dean hums in acknowledgment, only quickly glancing at Castiel’s hand. Sure enough, he has a King and a 6. When he looks to Jack, he shrugs, smiling softly. “That’s the game.” 

He flips his cards, showing the table his pocket of 2s and hums at their surprise. Castiel raises an eyebrow, eyes transfixed on Dean even as everyone else buzzes around them. They all stand from the table, cleaning up the glasses and cards and chips. Garth’s stopped playing, wiping down his forehead before heading back to the kitchen to beg some stew off Benny. Ellen and Bobby are saying their goodbyes, hugging Jack close and whispering poker tips. Jo and Charlie bicker as they carry the glasses to the bar, Jo already heckling Charlie for the money she owes for Dean’s loss. 

Dean sits back. He gazes up at the ceiling, stroking through his beard as he wonders where he left his smoking tobacco. A quick drag would soothe the tightness in his lungs, loosen up the itch of his skin. 

“Dean,” Castiel says, standing beside him. Dean rolls his head, turning a lazy smile onto the fae as if he won. 

“Yes, darlin?” The words roll around between his teeth, but they taste sweet like honeysuckle. Dean can admit it’s easier to call Castiel by these sweet names normally reserved for his family and bed mates than risk using his true name out loud. What he’s tempted to swallow back is the heat the names light in his gut, how he truly  _ wants  _ to call someone those names and Castiel is  _ here,  _ touching his shoulder as he passes. The fae’s thumb strokes along the back of Dean’s hairline, pressing gentle circles into his spine. 

“I believe it’s time to go home.” 

Dean closes his eyes, head rolling forward as Castiel’s nails drag through the back of his hair under the brim of his hat. Cas tugs slightly on his hair, warning him to not settle too far into his comfort. 

With a grunt, Dean pushes himself from his chair. He places his palm to the center of Castiel’s chest, patting the blue tie he wears underneath his waistcoat. “Let’s go home.” 

For the entire ride home, Jack mumbles about Castiel’s win into the fae’s chest. His eyes droop more and more as his head nods. Before they’ve even broken free of the brush around Castiel’s cabin, the boy’s asleep, lazily gripping Castiel’s waistcoat. Dean keeps glancing back, watching Castiel shift his arms to cradle the boy closer to his chest.

They trot in silence, letting the horses lead them home. Dean flicks up the brim of his hat so he can watch the stars flicker against the sky. He’s going home to a different bed, a different world of smells and magic and old paper and an open fireplace. Castiel’s cabin radiates a warmth Dean never felt on the Winchester ranch and his bones ache with want for it. His thighs tighten around Baby’s back, causing her to speed up a little.

Jack only stirs a little when they dismount and let the horses graze. Dean holds open the door for Castiel, lungs hitching when Castiel’s shoulder rubs across his chest. The fae doesn’t stop to light any candles, silently moving toward the back room Jack’s claimed as his own. Dean goes to follow, but slams into the corner of an armchair. He hisses through his teeth, rubbing his hip when Castiel returns. The fae snaps his fingers and Dean’s breathless for just a moment, then there’s suddenly fire in the hearth and candles dripping wax in the kitchen.

Dean coughs to catch his breath again, rubbing his chest. “Warn a guy next time,” he grumbles. He faces the wall, holding it with one hand to toe off his boots.

Castiel’s answering hum vibrates in Dean’s chest as the fae steps up behind him. His arms bracket Dean’s shoulders, forcing Dean closer to the wall. Glancing over his shoulder, Dean swallows. Toeing off his boots as well, Castiel kicks them aside and shoves away from Dean. The air around Dean turns icy. Goosebumps crawl across his skin under his shirt. Rubbing the back of his neck, Dean turns to watch Castiel pad into his small kitchen. The fae lights the stove and puts a pot on for tea.

“Would you like tea?” Castiel asks, leaning against the counter. He crosses his arms, shirt sleeves tight across his biceps. The top button goes taut underneath the tie and Dean’s eyes settle on the patch of skin just above Castiel’s collar. A flush blooms from the base of his throat and across his cheeks, burning his ears when he realizes Castiel is staring back.

“Thank ya for the offer, but I think m alright,” Dean says. He takes off his hat, hanging it on one of the hooks mounted to the wall. His sweaty palms catch on the sleeves of his coat as he shakes it off, hanging it above his boots. The fresh air of the cabin cools the small of his back and he sighs, relaxing despite the heated gaze he can feel on his shoulders.

“Where am I sleepin?” Dean asks. 

Despite the confident and cocky way they both approached their second deal, neither really thought about the consequences. Or rather, Dean had leapt feet first hoping Castiel could catch him with all the answers. The cowboy stands across from the fae in the kitchen, watching as Castiel pours his hot water into a mug of herbs.

Castiel stirs his tea slowly, watching it spiral for a moment. “You’re welcome to sleep in my bed. Or out here before the fireplace.”

Dean watches Castiel take the first sip of his tea. Droplets catch on the fae’s stubble and Dean licks his own lips in sympathy. “N where would ya prefer I sleep?”

When Dean rests his elbows on the counter, hips jutted out into the open space between them, he closes a large amount of distance between them. Castiel’s eyes trail over his form from over the edge of his mug. He places the mug down with a quiet clack. Reaching out, Castiel hooks a finger into the waist of Dean’s trousers. He doesn’t pull, but steps closer. Chamomile and lavender flitters around Dean, mixing with Castiel’s natural cedar scent. Dean inhales deeply, eyes fluttering.

It doesn’t take much to recognize this moment. The air chokes on their hesitation. Castiel’s touch along his hip, the slow swiping motion of his fingers as he rucks up Dean’s shirt, should be answer enough. His silence only gives way to Dean.

Castiel steps forward, hand sliding up Dean’s stomach to the center of his sternum. The fae stares at Dean’s chest, watching it rise and fall. He whispers, “To be completely clear, I want you to share my bed.”

Dean Winchester’s hands are meant for a few things: the caress of shooting a gun, the flick of reeling in fish, the twist of cleaning glasses, the push of kneading dough. These everyday moments of his simple life fit snugly between his pinky and thumb, cradled in his palms as if God had an exact plan for him. As he grabs Castiel’s hips to bring them closer, Dean marvels at how the edge of his palm and the tip of his middle finger splay perfectly across sharp bone. He tucks his bottom lip under his teeth to keep from grinning like a fool. Choosing, instead, to run his nose along Castiel’s cheek and whisper back, “I’d like that.”

Castiel ducks his head against Dean’s shoulder, thumb stroking back and forth over the man’s rib cage. A smile presses into Dean’s throat before there’s teeth lightly scraping over his pulse point. A soft gust of breath leaves Dean, heart stuttering at the touch. The hand on Dean’s chest anchors him against the counter as the fae nips and kisses along Dean’s jaw. Dean pushes a hand into Castiel’s hair, knocking his hat from his head and onto the floor so he can pull gently. The fae groans when Dean hugs him tightly to his chest, as if he wants them to melt into one another.

“Castiel,” Dean hisses at a particularly harsh bite, hips jerking forward as he tries to squirm away.

Castiel shoves away from Dean’s touch. For a dizzying moment, Dean’s feet feel like they fell through the floor. He reaches out for the counter to steady himself when hot hands grip the underside of his thighs, parting Dean’s legs and lifting him onto the counter. Dean grunts, fisting one hand around Castiel’s tie. A knuckle under his chin tilts his head up. Dean’s eyes fall shut, lips parted as he waits for what he assumes will be their second kiss. When no lips touch his, he slits his eyes open to peek at the fae’s face. Dean blinks, surprised to find Castiel’s gaze locked onto the gauntlet adorning Dean’s forearm.

Lifting Dean’s arm, Castiel presses a soft kiss to the tender spot of Dean’s inner wrist. The fae’s thumb replaces his lips, tucking itself between Dean’s skin and the metal with every sure swipe over Dean’s pulse. The man groans, swaying into Castiel’s space as the fae’s eyes meet his own again.

“You’ve been eyein’ it all night,” Dean says, twisting the tie between his fingers.

Castiel hums in agreement, thumb still incessantly hot against Dean’s wrist. “My apologies if I made you uncomfortable.”

Dean snorts, shaking his head as he uses the tie to bring Castiel’s throat close enough for him to mouth at. He drags his lips across the fae’s stubble, letting it tickle his own skin. Castiel’s fingers scratch lightly at Dean’s chest.

“I’m adjusting to someone else wearing my gauntlet. It’s quite—”

Castiel stops speaking with a shuddering breath when Dean sucks a mark under the bolt of his jaw. He clears his throat and continues when Dean moves on to simply kissing along his cheek. “It’s quite distracting.”

Chuckling into Castiel’s skin before pulling back, Dean smirks up at the fae. “Ya tellin me yer a possessive bastard?”

When the fae squints, pausing to think about Dean’s words, Dean only laughs harder. A blush colors Castiel’s cheeks and his eyes flicker slightly in threat.

What used to strike fear into Dean’s bones only brings him amused comfort now. Dean continues to giggle softly to himself as he cups the fae’s cheek. The glow in Castiel’s eyes remains even as his expression softens, nuzzling into Dean’s palm. Dean smirks and offers, “Well, Castiel, not for nothing, but the last time someone stared at me like that, we went to bed together.”

Dean’s hoping, for the final time tonight, that he’s played his cards right. He’s got an ace up his sleeve and a beautiful prize before him. The bold words invite Castiel in, welcomes them both into something so tender, Dean’s afraid it will fall apart when he breathes. He’s felt it growing in his chest, wrapping itself around his heart with every passing second. He never would have thought that a deal would get him so close to what he’s really wanted for years, yet here he is, hoping to drown in Castiel’s magic over and over again. 

Castiel’s laugh is as sure as river currents, splashing into Dean with relief. The fae lets go of the gauntlet to run his hands up Dean’s thighs. His thumbs press into the groove of Dean’s hips, tucked just under his shirt as he presses closer. Their chests touch with each breath and Dean almost groans just from anticipation. “You are so…” 

His voice fades away, replaced once again with laughter. Castiel squeezes Dean’s sides, exploring where muscles hardened from horse riding turn soft. Leaning forward, Dean’s able to brush their lips together. “Amazin? Gorgeous? There’s lots a words ‘m sure ya can choose from.” 

Castiel hums and presses their lips together again, tongue swiping out against Dean’s bottom lip. They both taste of whiskey and summer evenings, a flavor that quickly morphs into a sweet blandness Dean’s always enjoyed when kissing. Castiel pulls back to pull Dean’s shirt from his shoulders, fingers exploring the freckled skin relentlessly. “I would say  _ reckless _ .” 

The firm touch of Castiel’s thumb over a taut nipple and the words punch a sound from Dean’s chest. His back arches into Castiel’s hand even as he chuckles. “You’ve said that.” 

Their lips meet again, Castiel’s hips pressing into Dean’s now. Dean’s legs wrap around Castiel’s waist, ankles hooked on the fae’s thighs to keep him close. He drags his nails over the back of Castiel’s scalp, causing Castiel to moan softly into Dean’s mouth. Sucking on the fae’s bottom lip, Dean tries to pull Castiel impossibly closer. Dean’s skin pulls tight over his muscles, prickled in the heat of the moment and incapable of holding everything he feels. As Castiel follows a constellation of freckles along Dean’s shoulder with his lips, Dean rips at the buttons of Castiel’s shirts. Their hips just barely brush together, just enough to make them both gasp. 

Castiel’s body jerks forward, chasing after the teasing feeling, fingers tightening on Dean’s arm and hip. Dean groans, nails scratching over the fabric still covering Castiel’s back. “ _ Castiel,  _ take me to bed.” 

Blue-black smoke curls between them, Castiel’s eyes glowing with a pulse Dean hasn’t seen before. Dean strokes a knuckle along the fae’s crows feet, wondering if it’ll burn. A thrum wanders through his muscles and his lungs catch. So this is the power of Castiel’s true name. Castiel smiles, “Of course, Dean.” 

Even as Castiel steps away, his hands never leave Dean’s skin. His fingertips ghost along Dean’s arm before sliding their hands together. Castiel grips tight, leading Dean deeper into the cabin. The few belongings Dean had brought over that morning litter the hallway’s floor. The reminder that he  _ lives  _ here, that this is now  _ their  _ bed, simply because Dean wants it, sends his pulse hammering in his ears. 

Just as they stumble into the dark room, a single candle lights on the dresser. Dean spins on his heel to take in the only room he’d never seen, but is quickly pushed up against the wall beside the door. Castiel’s arms bracket his shoulders, hair tickling Dean’s chin as the fae ducks to suck marks onto Dean’s shoulders. Dean’s head falls back, another quiet groan on his tongue. He shoves at Castiel’s shirts, finally pushing them away so that he can map out Castiel’s chest underneath the swinging tie. 

Touches that had started honey-slow turn sharp and sour, like the center of an over ripe peach. Dean’s mouth waters with the taste of it as Castiel bites his bottom lip. Castiel huffs through his nose. The cowboy grumbles, pushing closer and grinding their hips together as he runs his tongue over the fae’s canines. Another moan pours into Dean’s mouth and he breaks the kiss to grin proudly.

Castiel uses the opportunity to slide his fingers back underneath the waist of Dean’s trousers. Dean easily goes with Castiel as the fae falls onto his large bed. Castiel rips the knot of his tie undone, letting the fabric pool onto the floor so that their skin can touch with no barriers. Crawling over him, Dean straddles the fae’s lap to coax that velvet tongue back into his mouth. His thighs flex, a reflex from years of training stallions. Dean pants, chest tight with every zing of magic. Each kiss, each press of desire against Dean’s skin, reverberates the magic through his bones. It calls something old home. Castiel rubs a soothing circle into the middle of his back even as his free hand undoes the button fly of Dean’s trousers. Dean’s fingers tremble as they try to do the same, thumb slipping on the edge of each button. He laughs at himself, at his shaking hands and heart. 

Castiel’s grin is a flash in the dark, sharp as a crescent moon. Dean falls forward to kiss it away and steal it for himself, laughing again when their noses crash together. The fae nuzzles Dean’s cheek, gripping Dean’s wrist so that his fingers brush the edge of the gauntlet. Dean moans even at this innocent touch, arousal pulsing through his gut at the reminder of why they’re here. 

“Fuck,” Dean mutters into the dark, eyes wide as he tries to take in the flickering shadows over Castiel’s figure. He tucks his thumbs into his trousers, wiggling his hip to help move them further down. Dean strokes himself in a loose grip, chin falling onto his chest as he bites back a louder moan.

Underneath him, Castiel squirms similarly to shove away the dark fabric of his own trousers. Before Dean can fully commit the image before him to memory, Castiel grips his neck and guides him back into a kiss. Castiel wraps his other hand around the band of Dean’s thigh holster, knuckles pressed hard into Dean’s leg, and tugs. It lurches Dean’s hips forward, bumping their erections together in an uncomfortable moment of pleasure. 

“Dean,” Castiel whispers, voice lurching like the floorboards of an old house. Through the fog of want and magic clouding his mind, Dean thinks to take them both in hand. As he strokes slowly, Castiel’s breath shudders. Even as Dean relaxes back against Castiel’s lap, the fae uses his grip on Dean’s holster to guide Dean into more aborted thrusts. 

Their foreheads touch, Castiel’s hand on Dean’s neck keeping them close. Dean mirrors the action, carding his fingers lazily through Castiel’s tangled curls. In between shared breaths, Dean pants out broken syllables. “Shit. Please, Cas, darlin.” 

Castiel presses a kiss to the corner of Dean’s mouth, smirking as he gazes at Dean from under his eyelashes. When Dean stares directly into the flames burning behind the fae’s eyes, his own prickle at the brightness. He blinks the tears away, falling further into the inferno fed with every touch. He focuses on stroking them in time with Castiel’s tugs on his holster, letting his body work under the fae’s guidance. A slow ache buzzes in his thighs, adding to the thrum in Dean’s body.

“Please, baby. I can’t…” Dean groans, head dropping to rest on Castiel’s shoulder. His hips stutter, hand cramping as he tries to quicken the pace. It earns him a soft moan from the fae, whose own body arches up into Dean’s weight. 

Humming, Castiel kisses the top of Dean’s hair. “You’re beautiful like this, Dean Winchester.”

Dean knows when his orgasms are close by the tautness along his spine. An invisible cord pulls tight from his toes to his eyes, breaking at just the right moment. It’s jarring, sudden like a snapped fishing line. Castiel moves his grip from the holster back to the gauntlet, fingers wrapping tightly around Dean’s wrist under the metal. Dean’s overwhelmed by the bite of the fae’s nails, the heat of the metal sticking to his sweat-slick skin, the drag of their bodies together. Just as the wire trips, Dean’s thighs clenching around Castiel’s, the fae grips his chin. Dean moans into the hard kiss, their teeth knocking as his muscles spasm. He spills over his hand and heaves out a breath through his nose to keep from breaking the kiss. His grip only tightens, becomes more insistent in his post-orgasm haze. He teases Castiel’s tongue with his own, hips moving in small circles against the fae’s lap. 

Magic coils around them. It surges as Castiel’s body tumbles over the edge. There’s a brief moment, where the glamour around the fae crumbles. For just a second, his true form breaks through. It’s a shadowy, edgeless shape. It radiates its own shine, a prism of light splitting from each feature. As Castiel growls out Dean’s name, Dean spots it. Honest to God sapphires for eyes. All oxygen dissipates from the air, snuffing Dean out like a flame. Despite this, Dean cups Castiel’s cheeks and laughs. 

Castiel falls back onto the mattress, gazing up at Dean. The glamour restores itself, settling back over the fae’s form in a weak imitation. Dean wonders if he’ll see those stones again, if he can search for galaxies in the swirls of Castiel’s true form the next time they lay together like this. The man hums and pulls away. He stands, holding the side of the bed as his legs shake like a newborn foal’s. He laughs again as he undoes his holster, setting it on Castiel’s dresser before kicking his pants off entirely. Castiel watches him, a singular eyebrow raised as he stretches atop the bed. “What is so amusing?”

Dean lies next to him, head pillowed on Castiel’s chest. When Castiel wraps an arm around his shoulders, the gauntlet weighs heavy on Dean’s spine. Dean’s eyelids flutter shut, mind fraying with exhaustion. Dean kisses the freckle above Castiel’s nipple and hums. “Humans laugh when they’re happy, Cas.” 

Dean feels more than hears the fae’s answering hum. “And are you happy, Dean?” 

“Yer makin me happy,” Dean mumbles. It’s a sleep-laden confession, slurred from being pressed into Castiel’s skin. 

Castiel’s chuckle almost rouses him from his half-dreamlike state. As they relax into each other, Castiel whispers to the dark room, “You make me happy, too.” 

  
  



	13. Sinnerman

Before the Winchesters moved west in search of Ouroboros, they lived in the outskirts of a bustling eastern town. John Winchester made an easy living raising horses and providing care to folks in town. His wife took after him. While not the best cook, her breads, rolls, and pies were the envy of every church lady. Dean spent every Saturday night watching her prep, eyes wide and hair covered in flour when he tried to help. Back then, at the meager age of 10, Dean knew he’d grow to attend to his parents. He’d take over the family ranch, teach his own children to bake apple pie, warm his hearth with the scent of cinnamon.

A broken lantern. That’s all it took to consume those dreams in ash. John had stumbled, tired, out to the stables to check on a new foal. When he turned back to his home, he found smoke screaming free of broken windows. Dean, woken by the smoke, successfully grabbed his brother and ran from the heat. It singed their hair, licked at their clothes, overwhelmed their lungs. When the boys tumbled into the cold dirt outside their home, Sam was already crying for Mary. Dean watched, eyes wide, as John shouted for her. His father barreled back into the house, desperate, but Dean already knew the truth in his gut. He pressed his fingers to his temple, where Mary had kissed him goodnight.

In the months after that, when they slept under the stars’ watchful eyes, Dean woke every night with a scream on his lips. John, still awake and glossy with drink, assumed these nightmares were consumed with fire. It was always the opposite, however. Dean always dreamed of drowning. He’d wade into a river, mid-day sun hot against his scalp. The current yanked, toppling his weight over. He fought, kicking and cutting through the water with his limbs. He only sank further, heavy as a river stone. As water bubbled into his lungs with every scream, John could only watch on.

Sometime throughout the years following Mary’s death, Dean’s dream slowly morphed from one of drowning to one of savoring the sunshine. He sat along the riverbank, pants soaked from the mud, fishing pole in hand. He squinted out at the water, spotting fish flying free of the surface. For years, this dream was his escape. A brief moment alone, secluded away from the terrors that consumed his daily life with John’s guilt.

Now, it changes again. He’s no longer alone. A small figure splashes in the water, calling back with laughter in his voice. Another man, sprawled out similarly to Dean, leans against his chest. Where their bodies touch burns brighter than the sun, warming Dean as if his own bones were kindling. 

A warm palm rests over his heartbeat, wakes him from the dream. He smiles before even opening his eyes. Castiel kisses his temple as they bask in the coolness of dawn. Dean tilts his chin out, licking his lips. Castiel chases after his tongue and kisses him slowly.

“Mornin, sunshine,” Dean whispers.

“Good morning,” Castiel whispers against Dean’s jaw. Rolling onto his side, Dean pushes his knee between Castiel’s thighs to press closer. Castiel hums, hand moving from his chest to wrap around his waist. The fae continues, “Will you take a walk with me?”

As Dean drags a palm over Castiel’s back, he senses the fae’s tension. It’s trapped within each word of his question, in the firm hold Castiel has around Dean’s waist. Dean stares at the dip of Castiel’s collarbone, wondering what waits for him outside the warmth of their bed. He nods, stifling a yawn. “Mhm. Jus’ gotta get dressed.”

Their bodies untangle. Sharp tingles trickle through Dean’s blood stream, returning feeling to his fingers and toes. His skin prickles at the sudden cold now that he’s away from Castiel’s heat. Holding back a shiver, Dean snatches his trousers from the floor to tug them on. Without question, he opens Castiel’s dresser in search of a clean shirt. He finds a brown button down similar to his own and pulls it on. The fabric scratches against his skin, body still thrumming from their previous closeness.

There’s a moment Dean feels Castiel’s gaze on his shoulders. As if someone has gripped his chest in a tight fist, Dean’s breaths go shallow. He rubs his sternum, trying to coax more oxygen through him. At first, he thinks it's magic. That Castiel has done something. But as Castiel slides his hand over Dean’s wrist to take the man’s hand, Dean’s lungs gulp for air. The fae’s fingers twitch between Dean’s as they stand in silence for a moment.

“Cas? How long have ya been awake?”  _ How long have you been thinking alone? _

Castiel leads them down the hall and through the living room without pausing for their boots. Dean hisses as his bare feet touch the cool boards of the porch, letting himself be guided. His heart hiccups at Castiel’s silence and he holds back a cough.

“Castiel?” Dean asks, squeezing the fae’s hand.

From beyond the silhouette of the trees, purple and pink blooms across the sky. It slowly crawls upward, filling the lake’s reflection with a soft promise. A mockingbird twitters from a tree, answered by another across the clearing. The twinkling sound echoes over the water and rings in Dean’s ear. Castiel stops them at the edge of the pond, toes digging into the silt. The fae gazes into the world captured in the still reflection of the water. He takes in a shuddering breath, grip on Dean’s hand so tight it almost cracks Dean’s knuckles.

“Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?”

The words gust from Castiel, harsh and cold as if he’s unsure of the syllables. Dean looks out across the water, trying to see what Castiel does. Stroking a thumb over the back of Castiel’s hand. He wants to say  _ of course.  _ He wants to call Castiel  _ baby  _ or  _ darlin  _ or  _ sweetheart.  _ He wants to take them back to bed, to kiss the lines between Castiel’s furrowed eyebrows. He wants to make them breakfast, even if Castiel won’t eat much of it. He wants to go out riding with him and Jack, show him the best fishing spots in Ouroboros before they head back to the Devil’s Backbone for dinner with Bobby and Ellen. These wants sink in Dean’s gut, heavy and hot as if he’s swallowed a burning coal. It burns through him, acid stinging the back of his throat.

“Ya don’t think I can keep a secret?” Dean asks, words skipping between them as if they’re stones Dean’s tossed. “Ya gave me yer name. Twice. What is this about?”

Castiel huffs out a breath in what Dean thinks is a humorless laugh. The fae finally turns his attention to Dean, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. They’re brimmed with something that isn’t magic, but actual tears. Dean’s next words lodge themselves behind his teeth. He bites everything back, stomach swooping. His hand hovers over Castiel’s jaw, unsure about how to touch him until Castiel presses his face to Dean’s open palm. Dean swipes away the first tear track, pulling Castiel closer without letting go of the fae’s hand.

“Yeah, Cas, ya can tell me anything,” Dean amends, eyes inspecting Castiel’s expression for any more fractures.

Castiel’s eyes flutter closed and he nods. He grips the front of the shirt Dean borrowed. “If… we are to continue this deal there is more you need to know. About me and Jack and his mother.”

Castiel’s lips are pressed into a thin white line. Dark circles under the fae’s eyes become more visible as the sun stretches beyond the trees. “This has got ya beat up, don’t it.”

“Dean,” Castiel says, glaring at the man to take the moment seriously. “You deserve to know the truth.”

“Damn right I do, but I’m wonderin’ why the fuck ya waited til  _ after  _ I made another deal with ya to tell me. Hell, why ya waited til after last night.”

Despite the bite to Dean’s words, he doesn’t let go of the fae. He’s worried that as soon as he does, the fae will melt into the water beside them. He moves his hand from the fae’s cheek to his shoulder, squeezing hard to accentuate his point and to be sure the moment is real. Castiel’s gaze falls to Dean’s chest, bottom lip worrying between his teeth.

When the fae doesn’t answer right away, Dean almost shoves him away. The gauntlet burns against his skin and the aftertaste of Castiel’s scent sours in the back of Dean’s throat. There isn’t an answer is the problem. Fae don’t tell the truth, they conceal everything from sight. Dean licks his dry lips and sighs. “What do you need to tell me?”

Castiel smooths his palm over Dean’s chest, letting go of the fabric. He steps back from Dean’s touch and sits on the dew-wet earth. He doesn’t look up at Dean, pulling his knees up to his chest. Had Dean not spent the past few days close to the fae, he’d find the vulnerability unsettling. He clears his throat and sits next to the fae, leaning his elbows on his crossed legs.

“Her name was Kelly,” Castiel starts, her name cracking in his mouth like a tree after a lightning strike. Dean reaches out, gently touching the fae’s shoulder in reassurance. “Jack’s mother. She was… unafraid. Only saw the good in others, even fae. She had an interest in our kind, similar to your brother, after she found out about deals.”

“You loved her?” Dean asks. He watches the water ripple when a leaf lands on the surface, biting his cheek to keep from saying more.

Castiel smiles and nods. “Kelly was my closest companion. Fae are all related in some way, but she felt like the closest thing to a sibling.”

“A sibling, but,” Dean starts, blinking as he tries to process what Castiel’s said.

Taking Dean’s hand again, the fae smiles softly at Dean’s upturned palm. He traces over the lines with his finger tips before glancing up. “Do you know anything of fae courts?”

Dean swallows and shakes his head, hand twitching under the gentle touches. “Not much.”

“I’m one of the princes of the Seelie Court,” Castiel says, glancing up at Dean’s shocked expression for only a moment. “Jack was born to my brother, the prince of the Unseelie Court. My brother and I… despite our differences of court and disposition, are very much kin. Jack takes so much after me because he takes so much after my brother.”

“So ya raised yer brother’s kid with his mom?” Dean asks, scooting across the dirt to be closer to the fae’s whispered words.

“In every sense of the word, I am Jack’s father. No matter whose blood he was born to, I am his guardian.” Castiel swallows and closes his eyes. “Jack is… powerful. More powerful than any fae ought to be. Left unchecked, he’d be a formidable force. My brother saw this potential and wanted to harness it, to take control of the human world. Knowing this, Kelly ran from the Unseelie Court. Unable to return entirely to the human world, I helped her build a modest life for herself and Jack. I left my station to one of my brothers and lived with her, to ward them against Jack’s father and his rage. I was able to hide us for years, to let us live as a family. But it wasn’t enough.”

Castiel takes a deep breath and looks up at the sky. He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing. Dean stares at him, at the pain radiating from Castiel. “He came for Jack.”

Castiel nods, eyes closing even as his head stays tilted back. “The call of Jack’s blood, his magic, made it impossible to keep him from his father’s grasp. As Jack grows stronger, the easier it is to find him. The more desperately my brother wants him. The Courts have… laws. They are as convoluted as the deals we make, but binding, nonetheless. Kelly, knowing this, wanted me to completely sever his connection to the Unseelie court, to become his true guardian.”

Dean whistles softly, running a hand down his face. He doesn’t speak, letting silence settle between them. Castiel sighs. “I did not wish to know Jack’s true name, to have that sort of control over my child. But the magic to grant me guardianship came with a high price.”

“You made a deal with her?” Dean knows the answer without looking at Castiel’s pained expression. The fae nods, unable to speak for a moment. They breathe together as dawn breaks over them. The sun peers over the treetops, searing the sky with pink. Birds swirl around the sky, gliding together above them even as the fae unravels before Dean.

“The spell required her last breath.  _ Her last breath.  _ Her soul,” Castiel laughs again. It rains down like hail, shattering. “I was left with no choice—the only deal I’d ever made to save my family did the one thing that tore it apart.”

As Dean watches the fae’s body tremble around the edges, he realizes that the fae had never once said these words aloud. The memories had been locked away, deep under Castiel’s glamour, for weeks. If Dean squints through the early morning light, he can see the fae’s true form again in this moment of sorrow. It reminds Dean of looking into a well, the darkness so thick, yet so hollow. The fae buries his hand in the soil beside him, clutching it as if to ground himself.

“Dean, I  _ killed  _ her.”

The words burst from Castiel in a sob. Without thinking, Dean wraps his arms around the fae. He pulls Castiel into his chest, kissing the fae’s hair. He closes his eyes, knowing that to speak in this moment would break Castiel’s feeble attempt at sharing his truth. All semblance of anger leaks from Dean for now. He expects his stubborn nature to hold onto the fact Castiel  _ kept  _ this from him throughout their short arrangement. But the longer they sit together, the more everything falls into place. Why Castiel almost turned Dean away from their deal, the earnest way in which Castiel shared Jack’s life with Dean. He desperately wanted to fill the same hole in his world Dean felt the morning he woke up to find Sam gone. Castiel knew this pain, shared it with Dean from the very moment Dean stepped onto Castiel’s front porch. Even if he did not know it.

Before Dean can speak his words of comfort and understanding, another broken cry rings through the clearing. Both Dean and Castiel look up to find Jack standing in the bushes beside them, eyes rimmed with red and irises shining bright gold.

Castiel scrambles to his knees, crawling to reach out for Jack. “Jack, please, let me—”

“You’re a  _ murderer,  _ Papa,” Jack scowls as if the words burn his tongue. He spits out, “Though you’re not even that, are you. You pretend to be my father and murder my mother and act as if nothing happened. You killed her and I… I hate you.”

Castiel falls forward, catching himself on his hands as Jack turns and runs into the woods. Dean stands, jogging into the brush after Jack, calling his name. The boy stops for a moment, looking over his shoulder for a moment. The wind is knocked from Dean as he’s thrown physically backwards. The world warbles covered in a haze of gold-tinted magic. Dean chokes, gripping his throat as he tries to breathe.

Dean silently writhes on the ground, waiting for the magic to dissipate so he can breathe, but no reprieve comes. Through his blurring vision, Dean can see Jack pin Castiel similarly to the ground. Dean hears a resolute shout of “ _ Leave me alone”  _ echo over the lake. And then he’s falling into darkness.

Sam Winchester used to think he’d rather die than admit his brother was right.

He sits, cross legged, on the cold floor of his cell. Staring up at the ceiling, he watches a singular droplet of water hurtle towards him. He blinks when it lands on his cheek for the sixty seventh time. Unable to tell the time, Sam reverts back to counting this slow drip. He reckons it’s early in the morning because Ruby has not visited with his meager breakfast of spring water, fruit, and mushrooms.

Sixty eight. Sam wipes his cheek before the droplet rolls down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. As he closes his eyes, he thinks of Dean’s laugh. At how his brother would boastfully shout  _ I told you so  _ in his face, even as he pulled him into a warm embrace.

Sam had daydreamed for years about where the fae slipped through the very fabric of reality. Ruby led him through the woods beyond the ranch, deep into the inky shadows of the night. He tripped over roots and ran into branches while Ruby navigated the space as if it were an open clearing. He grumbled under his breath, which she glared at him for—brown eyes flashing sharply in the little moonlight that broke through the foliage.

She offered no assurance, just looked his tall form up and down before stepping forward into  _ nothing.  _ Her shadow disappeared in front of him. One step and she was gone, swallowed by the earth and air around them. He gaped, amazed that it wasn’t a magical doorway that appeared in the side of a hill, but rather a literal rip. A hand shot out from the dark and yanked him forward. He stumbled into an open room of cool tones. The walls shimmered like glass as water tumbled down them, constantly whispering the secrets of the fae’s home. Ruby marched him through the empty halls, black hair swinging behind her. He gazed around, not paying attention to where he stepped as she guided him. Tapestries decorated the pillars holding up the thick stone walls. Light caught in the cracks of the blue-tinted stone, flickering as if the rooms breathed of their own accord. Mushrooms trailed along the edges of the hallway, pulsing with growth as Ruby stepped past. Sam bent to get a closer look before Ruby jerked him forward again.

His jaw fell open when they entered a larger room, one occupied with actual fae. His eyes couldn’t stay focused on one singular aspect of the space. A chandelier swung slowly above them, candles that never melt burning so bright it could rival sunlight. Sam swallowed thickly as the faes’ eyes landed on him. Ruby grinned for him, letting go of his shirt to gesture at his figure. “Sam Winchester, my lord.”

Sam blinked, almost toppling forward in his effort to bow to the fae before him. The man sat sprawled on a plush armchair, legs spread wide. His red eyes tracked lazily over Sam, raising the hair on the back of Sam’s neck. A crown of silver thorns wrapped around his head, glinting as the fae leaned forward. The fae king rested an elbow on his knee and chin in his hand. “Have you taken in another pet, Ruby dear.”

Ruby stepped forward, urging Sam to come closer with a fierce nod of her head and a sharp look. She turned her grin back upon the king, eyes sparking into a warm amber glow. “He’s seen the one you’re looking for. He’s seen James.”

Sam looked down at Ruby, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He wanted to interrupt, to announce he knew no one by the name, that Ruby had simply taken him here to map out the underground caverns of the court and read from the fae’s library. Before he had the chance, however, the fae king stood and strode forward towards them. He cupped Ruby’s cheeks in his hands, red eyes flashing. He kissed her forehead. “My sweet child. Thank you for this gift.”

Sam watched the exchange with his jaw clenched, stepping back from them. The fae king’s eyes landed on him and he was suddenly frozen, feet one with the floor beneath him.

“Now, human. How is my brother doing?”

Another droplet lands on Sam’s cheek. He sighs. Sixty nine. He couldn’t be sure of the exact hour, but he could at least count the days by the frequency of his meals. It’s been almost a week since he left Winchester Ranch. That night he’d felt something tug him back home, something pull in his gut that warned him not to go with Ruby. Sam knocks the back of his head against the wall. He should have listened to that instinct, to Dean’s warning. But the taste of the spring water, the cool tingle it wrapped around his mind pushed him forward—worse than any strong drink. He’d been lost at the first sip and he should have known.

The latch of his cell door clanks, the only warning he gets before Ruby is sauntering into the room holding his plate. He grimaces at the sight of the fae food, craving something  _ more.  _ Something home-cooked, greasy with bacon fat. Ruby kneels beside him, holding out the plate.

“Good morning, Sammy boy,” she says sweetly. Sam shivers away from it, shoving her hand away when she holds out the plate for him to eat from. She pouts, head tilted. “Oh, don’t be like that. Today is a wonderful day, pet. The king has officially pardoned you.”

Sam side eyes her, eyebrow raised. He wraps his arms around his chest, keeping Ruby from touching his chest as she often does. “I haven’t been able to answer any of his questions. I know nothing of this fae you’re calling James.”

Sam flinches away as she pats his cheek. She sets the plate on the floor next to him. “Because, silly. His son has come home.” She grins, teeth sharp and glinting even in the low light of his cell. “And soon Ouroboros will be ours.”

She stands, putting her hands on her hips. She smirks down at him, flicking her hair behind her shoulder. “He’s granted me permission to keep you as my pet. I can finally take you to the library like I promised. If you behave and wipe that scowl off your face.”

Sam stares at the small hand she holds out to him. He blinks a few times. Water hits his face. Seventy. Realization strikes and he stands abruptly, now towering over the small fae. “The Unseelie Court wants to take over Ouroboros?”

Rolling her eyes, Ruby shifts her weight from one foot to another. Sam always thought fae were still creatures, unmoving to the point of uncanniness. But Ruby was constantly moving and twitching, as if her magic could not sit still inside her short frame. “Humans are so short-sighted. We are taking back what is already  _ ours. _ Besides, it’s not about you. It’s about punishing the one that hurt the king in the first place.”

“So all the omens? All the new deals?”

Ruby shrugs, looking over her nails as Sam starts to pace. “The king needed reinforcements. More fae, more magic, more omens.”

“And what about the humans? What happens to them when he braises the ground in revenge?” Sam asks, pulling at his own hair as he struggles for breath.

Ruby huffs, smirking again. She goes to the door, leaning into the door jam. “Who cares? It’s not like you’re human anymore. Now eat your breakfast. ”

When she parts with those final words, she leaves the door open, An invitation for Sam to leave and take part in their celebration. He slides back down to the floor, massaging his temples. He used to think he’d rather die before admitting to Dean he was wrong. And now he’s wondering if this is his chance. 


	14. Devil’s Right Hand

Dean sits in one of Castiel’s armchairs, hot mug between his cold hands. His throat still stings with each breath, a dull pain throbbing behind his eyes. He squints through the pain up at the fae pacing his den. Castiel runs a hand through his hair, face pale as he mumbles to himself. Sipping at the concoction Castiel made for his headache, the man winces at the bitter flavor. He parts his lips a little and sets the mug aside.

Castiel slides his eyes over to Dean, glaring only for a moment. “Drink it, Dean.”

With a huff, Dean lifts the mug again and brings it to his lips. “Where do ya think he’s gone?”

Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jack hasn’t entered one of the courts since he was an infant, he has no knowledge on how to get there. However, that doesn’t change the fact his spell didn’t go unnoticed. If he steps off the ley lines in the woods, they’ll find him. They’ll bring him to the Unseelie Court and he’ll meet his father.”

“Yer his father, Cas,” Dean offers, voice a soft thing. He looks back into his mug before closing his eyes. “He still loves you, even if he don’t know it yet.”

“How can you sound so sure,” Castiel moans, falling into the armchair beside him. With his resolve drained from him, the fae looks wrung out. As if he’s a rag doll version of himself, empty of spark and sulfur.

“Ya loved Kelly n ya love him. Ya did what she asked of ya to keep him safe. I get that. And one day he will too.” Dean licks his lips and shakes his head. “I ain’t gonna stand here n pretend m better than you, Cas. I pushed my brother away soon as he started actin like our dad, I let him fall into the fae’s grasp. I was just too angry to keep him home. And God knows what’s happened to him since he left.”

Dean chugs the rest of his medicine and grunts. He grimaces as he sets the mug aside again. Turning to face the fae, he points at Castiel’s chest. “What m gettin at here is that we all do fucked up shit to each other. Whether or not he’ll forgive ya, I can’t say. But, I know damn well we gotta go get him before he gets hurt.”

Castiel visibly swallows, staring into the empty hearth as he nods. His fingers grip the arms of the chair, forearm muscles twitching with the exertion of keeping himself whole. Dean runs his fingers over Castiel’s arm before covering the fae’s hand with his own. “So, do you got a plan to get him back or not?”

With a sigh, Castiel lets his head fall back. He turns his hand over to lace his fingers with Dean’s, squeezing hard. “It’s reckless, but it may very well save both Jack and your brother. If they’re both in the Unseelie Court, like I suspect.”

Dean offers Castiel his signature cocky grin, the kind that’s gotten him in and out of trouble throughout his life. “Well, lucky for ya darlin, ‘m the reckless type. What do we gotta do?”

Moonlight drips through Castiel’s curtains later than night. Neither fae nor man bothers to stand and light more than a solitary lantern on the table. It’s small pool of light is just enough for Dean to see the unassembled pieces of his Colt. He polishes each part with memorized movements, rag dragging over each ridge and coming back covered in dust. Dean carefully clicks the colt back together, keeping his gaze on the task before him.

The ingredients they needed for the spell were easy enough to gather in a town like Ouroboros. Crow’s feathers and snake vertebrae from the children with makeshift outposts behind their houses. Rosemary and lavender and cloves from Castiel’s own herb garden. Murky water from a crossroads from the river behind the Winchester Ranch. A couple horse hairs carefully pulled from Baby’s tail. And their mixed blood.

Castiel carefully layers each of these ingredients in a silver bowl, whispering to himself in a language Dean doesn’t understand. When he glances up, the fae holds a blade above his palm. The metal’s color warps and coils like a snake about to strike as Castiel lets its edge bite into his skin. Squeezing his hand over the bowl, Castiel meets his gaze.

Dean swallows and holds out his hand. Castiel cradles it in his healed and blood-tacky palm. The fae offers a small smile, whispering, “Remember to hold your breath, Dean.”

Inhaling deeply, Dean pauses, cheeks puffed out. He winks at the fae just before Castiel presses the blade into Dean’s hand. Blood wells up around the blade’s edges. It trickles across the wrinkles of Dean’s palm. When the first droplet lands, a burst of light bubbles from the bowl. Castiel’s eyes spark, smoking immediately as he continues to whisper to himself. The blade no longer cuts into his skin, but the fae still clings to his hand. The light flickers for a moment before it stretches from the bowl to wrap itself around the entire room. Dean blinks at the sudden brightness, peering through it at Castiel. The fae reaches out, freehand hovering above the chamber of Dean’s colt. A few more rumbled words and the light snaps out of existence.

As Dean’s eyes adjust, he searches through the sudden dark for anything familiar. He allows himself to exhale, lungs strained from holding still so long. His gaze follows Castiel’s pleased grin. In the middle of the handle, cinders fall away to expose a new mark: a pentagram with flames around it.

Dean picks up the still-warm metal, thumb tracing over the embedded symbol. He turns it in his hand, pointing it over Castiel’s shoulder and miming pulling the trigger with a click of his tongue. Despite having it so closely pointed at him, Castiel doesn’t flinch away.

“So it’s done?” Dean asks, letting go of Castiel’s hand to wipe their blood away on his rag.

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel says, turning away to pack for their midnight ride. “Your colt can now kill any fae that stands before it.”


	15. Spirit in the Sky

As the night wanes, the heat rises. It pulses around them, soaking into Dean’s dark shirt and trousers. He curls his toes into the wood, grounding himself. He sits, legs spread wide, waving his hat in front of his face. He watches Castiel prepare, hands confident even in the dark. Castiel settles his hat over his hair before rolling up his sleeves. The gauntlet glints gold in the lantern light, blinding Dean for a moment. Spots dance in his vision as he watches the fae prop his foot up and wrap a sheath around his thigh. Castiel pulls out the blade, the color the same hue and shine as the gauntlets they both wear. Castiel holds the dagger up to his eye, checking it’s balance before pressing the pad of his thumb on the edge. The fae licks away the blood, nodding to himself. Dean hums as the blade slides home with a click. Castiel raises an eyebrow at him as he moves to shrug on his coat.

“All fae carry around a blade like that?” Dean asks, rocking forward in his seat to stand. He buckles his own holster around his waist, fingers lingering on the colt at his hip. He swallows and tugs on his jacket.

“Most do. It’s the symbol of a warrior. Longer and more ornate the blade, higher the rank,” Castiel murmurs.

“Oh? So I’m betrothed to a fae warrior prince?” Dean says, stepping close to Castiel’s side as they both pull on their boots. As they sway into each other, Dean leans in to kiss Castiel’s stubbled cheek.

When Castiel chuckles, it's not full of his usual joyful abandon. Sweat beads at the small of Dean’s back, sluicing down the divet of his spine. Anxiety clenches in his chest.

“And I am betrothed to a cocky barkeep with no sense of survival,” Castiel teases. He grips Dean’s bicep, examining Dean’s face slowly. Dean’s heart hammers once into his ribs under the gaze.

Dean snorts and shakes off Castiel’s touch with a playful shove. “Yer an ass, Castiel.”

The words soften even as they leave Dean’s mouth. They sweeten the air with something sugary Dean’s never tasted. Castiel puts out the lantern and they step into the humid night together. As they walk, their hands brush.

In their plans, they decided to take only one horse. Dean walks up to Baby, stroking her long nose as he smiles. “It’s alright, sweet girl. I’ll be back before dawn. Don’t wait up for me.”

He turns to Castiel, who holds out an arm to help Dean mount. A blush warms Dean’s chest and neck as he presses firmly against Castiel’s back, arms wrapped tightly around his torso. Without seeing the fae’s face, he knows Castiel smirks. “Hold on,” the fae whispers before spurring his horse into motion.

Dean hides his face from the sharp breeze in Castiel’s shoulders. He strokes his thumb over Castiel’s stomach, catching the buttons of his shirt with every pass. It settles something inside Dean, calms him enough to focus on the task at hand. An owl hoots somewhere above them and other creatures scamper around the brush as they gallop past. Castiel’s eyes scan the areas around them, peering between tree trunks for any sliver of magic. While unsure about where  _ exactly  _ they could find the fae court, Sam’s notes about Dean’s reactions to magic during their foraging help provide a sense of direction. Castiel’s own breathing slows, quiet as he focuses on the sound of Dean’s. With every hitch of Dean’s lungs, every lurch of his breath, Castiel steers them closer and closer.

Castiel pats Dean’s hand with his own, urging the man to look over the fae’s shoulder at the space before them. Cutting through the foliage, just up against the valley of a small hill, is a stream. It bubbles up from underneath the earth, mumbling in the night. A moonbeam rests firmly against it like a beacon and Dean grins even as his chest grows tight. On the ground among the weeds and fallen leaves are mushroom circles.

Stopping his horse just where Dean starts to wheeze, Castiel moves to dismount. He swings one leg over, sliding down gracefully as Dean clutches at his own shirt front. His vision pulses in the corners again and he nods as Castiel pulls him from the saddle. The fae doesn’t bother setting him down, cradling him to his chest instead. With a soft spoken word, he orders the horse to stay before marching towards the stream. Dean struggles to take in a deep breath. The very air glitters around Castiel’s hair, the fae’s eyes catching each fractal of light. Castiel kisses the top of his forehead and a cooling sensation floods Dean’s system. It uproots Dean’s ability to breathe, but soothes the ache in his oxygen hungry blood. For a moment, he goes boneless in the fae’s grip.

In just that moment, they step through the tear and into the Unseelie Court. Like parting from the depths of a lake, Dean inhales with a loud gasp. When Castiel kisses his temple again, no magic oozes from his touch. He sets Dean down and the man leans against the wall to gain his bearings.

A soft light radiates from above them, shrouding the space with a dull flatness. Dean peers around the doorway, inspecting the hallway. Blue stone, far as his eyes can see. With no discernible turns—no shadows to distinguish one space from another. The sound of soft splashing echoes around them and Dean spots the moment the walls become drenched in water falls. It’s almost calming, if the other worldly silence didn’t grate on Dean’s nerves.

Castiel meets Dean’s gaze, palm pressing into Dean’s chest in silent question. Dean offers a quick quirk of his lips and a nod. Unsheathing his blade, Castiel leaves the small alcove they’re hidden in to stalk down the hallway. Castiel had only briefly explained the ways in which magic alters physical space in a fairy court.  _ A sentient maze  _ he called it. Living, breathing,  _ eating  _ creature that is the earth’s underground. The walls sense where the traveler wishes to go and grants it with every turn. It warps itself around the wishes of it’s magical occupants, full on the stardust leftover from each spell and deal. Castiel glances at Dean, who nods again as he focuses on an image of Sam in his mind. The hallway shimmers before Dean, just a slight change in hue to hint at the shifting landscape. When a turn appears, they follow. When steps lead them further into the belly of this beast, they descend. With each step, Dean feels as if the ceiling falls lower and the walls closer. Their edges blur without shadows, ruining his sense of depth perception. He blinks over and over, focusing on Castiel’s back instead as they wander the hallways. 

Another downward set of stairs appear, leading them to a square room with what Dean thought is hundreds of doorways. Slivers of space just cut open like wide mouths, eager to swallow Dean whole. His heart thuds in his ears and pulses in his fingertips. He bounces on his toes, hand itching to grip the gun on his hip. Here, the walls turn a darker blue, damp with mildew. Dean’s nose wrinkles at the smell and he wipes his mouth to rid himself of the taste.

The sound of water disappears, leaving only a solid silence their own footsteps don’t penetrate.

At the sound of a faint voice, Dean flinches.

“Two thousand three hundred ninety one… Two thousand three hundred ninety two…”

It’s a telltale whisper, tickling Dean’s earlobe with the promise of tired drawl and annoyed glares. Without a word, Dean lurches forward. He sprints along the wall, checking each doorway with mounting disappointment as he finds each room empty. Castiel follows, walking backwards as he takes in the space around them.

Unable to follow the sound of Sam’s voice, Dean hisses, “Sam?”

The counting stops. Dean hears a scramble of feet, then thudding footsteps. Dean spins on his heel, trying to spot his brother from any of the too many corners. A looming figure fills the void of blue landscape and Dean sighs in relief.

“Dean?”

“Thank fuckin god yer not dead. Why the fuck are you down here?” Dean asks, running up to his brother. He presses his hands into Sam’s shoulders, squeezing to be sure he’s not hallucinating as he checks Sam for visible wounds.

Sam ignores the touches and questions in favor of pulling Dean into a crushing hug. He mumbles into Dean’s shoulder, “What took ya so damn long?”

Dean huffs a laugh, patting Sam’s back before stepping back. “Ya know how hard it is to find the entrance to this place?”

Castiel touches Dean’s elbow, eyes scanning the doorways around him. “Dean, we don’t have much time.”

“Sam, ya know where they’re keepin a kid? 10 years old, gold hair n eyes. Fae.” Dean lists off Jack’s attributes, mouth going dry as he thinks of the kid’s pained expression while he ran.

Sam closes his eyes for a moment, rubbing his cheek. “Ruby said there’s something happening in the throne room. The fae king intends to learn the child’s true name to unlock his true potential.”

Without another word, Castiel starts to sprint back the way they came. Dean nods in the direction of the fae’s trail, speeding up to keep pace. Dean doesn’t miss the way Sam’s eyes lock onto the gauntlet on Castiel’s forearm as they run through the court’s maze. Or the way Sam glances at the matching one on Dean’s. Sam clears his throat, looking his brother up and down. He strides closer, voice lowering. “Ruby said they plan to destroy Ouroboros. The fae ya got with ya, he’s the one from the bar?”

Dean nods once, keeping his gaze firmly locked on Castiel’s back. 

Sam huffs, running a hand through his hair to push it back. “Dean, he’s the one they’re after. He kidnapped the fae king’s son.” Sam glances at the gauntlet again, eyebrows pinched into a scowl. “What happened while I was gone, Dean?”

Dean huffs at his brother’s question. “I had to get ya back somehow.”

“You mean  _ you _ made a deal. With James?” Sam asks, voice louder. Castiel glances over his shoulder, peering at Dean with a raised eyebrow.

Dean raises his hands and sighs. “Sam, this ain’t the time. We gotta get the kid n get outta here before he gets hurt. So save the questions for when we’re outta this hell hole. I feel like m startin to catch a cold.”

As soon as the words leave Dean’s mouth he’s hurtled forward. The floor gives out underneath them and Dean’s falling into space. He shouts out for Sam, who’s hand grips his ankle as they crash into a stone floor. Both Winchesters groan, rolling onto their sides as they take account of their bodies. Nausea rocks through Dean’s gut, the horizon spinning for a moment. He closes his eyes to the feeling, realizing that part of why his mouth waters is the thick scent of burning herbs and oils around them. Dean blinks at the space around them, surprised to find that they’re exactly where they intended: the throne room.

Castiel’s voice rolls through the space in a low rumble, a growl if Dean’s ever heard one. His canines are bared, sharp points glinting in the flickering light of a crystal chandelier. His scowl is ruined, however, by the crush of his brother’s hand on his cheeks. The fae king lifts Castiel from the floor by his throat, smirking at his brother.

“Did you really think, my adoring brother, that you could enter my court without my noticing?” The fae king chuckles. A silver crown of thorns balances over his spiked blonde hair, giving him an almost scratchy appearance.

Despite the humbling grip on his face, Castiel spits back. “Give me back my son.”

The fae king let’s go of Castiel’s face, letting the fae drop to his knees. Castiel rubs his jaw, glaring up at his brother as the fae king strides back to his throne. It’s decorated with a red velvet, color so deep Dean swears someone must have bled to death to dye it. The fae king falls into the thick cushions, white shirt parting over his chest to expose a wreath of silver chains and gemstones around his neck. He wears two gauntlets, similar to Castiel’s in size and decoration, except the metal is silver in hue—matching his crown.

The fae king lifts a single hand, smirking across the room at Castiel. “And what makes you so sure he wants to  _ go  _ with you, dear brother.”

Dean slides onto his feet, moving to Castiel to lift him from the ground. The man pierces the fae king with his own green stare. The fae king sneers, eyes touching on Dean’s gauntlet for just a moment.

“Where’s the kid, you son of a bitch,” Dean demands, palm pressed against the butt of his gun. His muscles twitch to use it, so close to tasting gun powder his nose already burns with it.

The fae king rolls his red eyes, peering at Dean from under his crown. “I care little about your little rescue mission, human. Jack is content to remain here with me, with his  _ father. _ ”

From behind the velvet throne, Dean can spot a crop of gold. Shining eyes peek around the fae king to gaze up at Dean and Castiel. Dean steps forward with Castiel, Dean’s hand still clutching the fae’s elbow.

“Jack,” Dean says. “C’mon, kiddo. That can’t be true.”

Jack moves to stand beside the throne, hands locked in front of him. He stares down at the floor, feet shifting every few seconds. The fae king places a large hand on the boy’s shoulder, grinning at the men before him.

“You see? Nothing has changed. You coming here changes nothing. It only makes my job easier.”

The fae king lifts his hand, waving it in such a minute way Dean almost misses it. Castiel is sent hurtling backward, muscles pulled taut as he’s pinned to the wall. The fae spits out a mouthful of blood, grimacing at the taste.

Dean widens his stance, the Colt already cradled perfectly in his hand. When the barrel points right between the fae king’s glowing eyes, the bastard laughs.

“Children’s play things have no place in adult conversations,” the fae king mocks.

Dean raises an eyebrow, tilting the gun to the side to show the symbol burned into its side. The fae king’s eyes widen, smirk falling into a shocked grin. Dean doesn’t give him the chance to speak however, striding forward to point the gun more firmly at the fae king’s chest.

“Let him go. Both your brother and the boy. And I’ll let ya live,” Dean warns. He clicks back the safety, only glancing at Jack’s downcast head for a moment.

“Empty threats and promises, human, I assure you.” The fae king snaps his fingers and a bowl appears in his open palm. Swiping a fingernail over his palm, he lets blood trail down his wrist. “Your petty quarrels do not matter. Jack belongs here, where he will not be lied to. Where his power will flourish, rather than be squashed by human emotions.” 

A droplet of blood explodes as it lands in the bowl just as Castiel roars in objection. The fae fights against his hold even as Dean presses his forefinger to the trigger. Dean recognizes the beginning flickers of a spell, can feel the oxygen shiver in his lungs. Time warps around them, slowing even as it pushes forward. Dean’s got the barrel pointed directly at the space between those eyes glowing red like embers. It’s only one shot and Dean’s aim has never gone wrong. 

Words tumbling in a rush from the fae king as his eyes land on Dean. A smirk splits his face and for a moment, Dean can see the withered corpse behind the glamour. His arms freeze. His mind empties, tongue heavy inside his mouth.

“ _ Michael, _ ” the fae king whispers, teeth sharp as he shapes the syllables of Dean’s true name. “Kill my brother.”

Dean turns his gaze from the fae king to Castiel’s prostrate form on the wall. His finger squeezes the trigger. Even as his heart stops, even as his whole body burns with regret, the bullet flies. A quiet whimper squeezes out of his chest. His eyes glaze over. The bullet hits its mark in the heart. Castiel collapses to the floor in a flash of blue light and Dean knows that it's Castiel’s magic. Dean knows what the spell does, how it burrows deep into a fae, and uproots their very ties to the earth. It’s different from death, harsher. Colder. Less forgiving.

Dean drops the gun and crawls to Castiel. His hand presses into the bullet wound. There’s no blood. No breath. No life. Just empty stones for eyes.

Dean lifts Castiel’s head from the floor, pressing their foreheads together. There are no tears, no pain, just empty stones. All Dean has is empty stones.

When Dean closes his eyes to the image before him, he remembers sunshine, warm water, leaves laughing in a breeze. Heat envelops his skin, brushing along his face like it’s being kissed by the sun. For a second, Dean can imagine he’s sprawled out on the bank of Castiel’s pond, hand tucked over his eyes, while they all fish. Then the heat starts to burn and his lungs stagger and when he tries to open his eyes all he sees is white light.

In the crushing silence, a soft sob follows the light like a crash of thunder. It booms in Dean's ears just before a heart-wrenching scream follows. Sharp and grating, Dean turns away from it by tucking his face into Castiel’s chest. The heat and noise fade, oozing away from the room, leaving Dean gasping for breath. There’s a soft clink that somehow echoes louder than a gunshot. Dean peeks at the floor to find the bullet he’d shot into Castiel’s chest roll towards his knee. 

Arms wrap around Dean’s neck, pulling him tighter to the chest he rests against. The weight underneath him shifts and Dean barks out a broken laugh. When he leans up, pulling Castiel with him and into his lap completely, he finds Jack kneeling next to him. Tracks of tears stain the boy’s face, eyes wavering even as the gold shine fades away. He reaches out with a shaking hand, unsure that his magic had worked. Castiel opens his arms, allowing Jack to burrow into the space between the two adult’s chests.

“It’s over,” Jack whispers. He snuffles against Castiel’s shirt. “I’m sorry. Papa, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” Castiel whispers to his son. He cups the back of the boy’s head. “Thank you, Jack.”

Dean wipes his cheek on his shoulder. He kisses Castiel’s hair as he pet’s Jack’s back. Despite how quickly it happened, Dean’s body settles into this new reality quickly. It’s a moment in which it is just them. A small and broken family made whole in the ways they trust each other. He grins as he hears his brother’s dazed voice echo through the throne room.

“What the  _ fuck  _ did I just witness?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoying my odd little AU! I plan to write timestamps after DCBB (2020) publishing is over in December. <3


End file.
